


R.E.M

by kylerlove



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom Steve Rogers, Feminization, Idiots in Love, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Omega Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulphrases, Sub Bucky Barnes, graphic description of rape, i have a lot planned but i get distracted easily okay, idk what those are i made them up okay don't juDGE ME, no promises on how much i'll write, soulmate fic, there's more tags but like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylerlove/pseuds/kylerlove
Summary: Bucky reads what it says aloud before he knows what he’s doing. “...but I just wanna stand and yell, I would never dare to tell,–”“–think I heard some wedding bells…”Excuse the fuck out of me?!?!Or.Bucky is a rare male omega in his first year of his PsyD program, working an internship at Stark Towers. Ever the typical libra, he is a hopeless romantic, anxious to meet his soulmate.I will try to update every 5 days (or sooner)!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 37
Kudos: 107





	1. but i just wanna stand and yell, i would never dare to tell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I want to warn you now that there is a non-graphic description of rape in this chapter. 
> 
> Aside from that, this is my really crappy first attempt at writing in the first person + present tense. Also my first time writing ABO dynamics. Hope you guys like!

Bucky takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he walks into Stark towers for the first day of his year-long internship. He’s still in disbelief that he managed to land the internship  _ here _ , because he submitted his application late and wasn’t bilingual, which he knew was strongly preferred. But nevertheless, he’d gotten it, having nailed the interview with Stark. He barely even made it halfway through the damn thing before Stark had said “you got it, Kid. You’re really great, ya know?” 

Bucky in fact, did not know, but he just gave his usual shy smile and hoped that his nervous scent wasn’t  _ too _ too strong. The best thing about this internship though, is its proximity to home. Being born and raised in Pasadena, Bucky was thrilled to learn that Stark tower had relocated from New York to downtown Pasadena, right off the 210 on the corner of Lake and Walnut. Was it in downtown Los Angeles? No, and Bucky didn’t know why. But he sure the fuck was grateful, because anytime he could avoid going to LA in the height of southern California traffic, he was grateful. It was like each and every freeway was jammed from 7:00am to 8:30pm. Taking the 134 to the 5 to get into DTLA was horrific, and the 110… Well, we don’t even need to discuss the 110. 

He walks through the lobby and to the front desk, heart thrumming. A pretty woman, a beta, he can smell, looks at him with a blank expression. “How can I help you today?” She questions nicely, her face looking like she wants to be anywhere else doing anything else. Bucky can relate.

“Hi, um, I’m here for Stark’s psych internship?” Bucky clutches his hands tighter around his backpack straps, trying to control his breathing. To ground himself. He feels like every eye in the lobby is trained on his small form, waiting for him to fuck up and look stupid. 

She glances down for a split second before looking back up. “Oh, you’re Bucky Barnes, right?” 

Bucky’s face falls before he quickly picks it back up, trying to reel his nerves back in.  _ Everything is going to be okay.  _ “Y-yes. That’s me.” 

She gives him a genuine grin, “okay, great, Tony should be walking in here in like 15–”

“Ah!” Bucky turns around to face the sudden,  _ loud _ voice he’d come to recognize as Tony Stark’s, “There’s my Bucky. How are you today?” He wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and begins to steer him into another room, seemingly to a different elevator. 

Bucky nearly caves in on himself from shyness. “I, um, I’m well. I think. How are you?” 

Stark guffaws. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were shy, huh?” 

Bucky deadpans. “Oh no, I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious,” he mutters flatly. 

Stark just laughs even harder. “Okay, let’s get you to your office.” 

Bucky chokes on his spit. “ _ Office?! _ ” 

“Yeah, Bucky,” he chuckles, “an office. What, you thought I wouldn’t get you one?” He presses the button for the 39th floor. 

“I-I’m an intern,” Bucky stammers out, “and I have my own office?” 

Tony leans against the side of the elevator as the metal partitions close in front of them both. “You’re gonna be here for at least a year, Bucky, so yeah, why wouldn’t you? We do everything better here at Stark Industries.” 

The elevator zips up the 39 floors impressively fast, and opens into a long corridor with several windows that Bucky realizes are individual offices. “Yeah, you weren’t lying.” 

“Come on, I’ll show you your office and give you a quick rundown.” 

.

.

.

“So, remind me again why we can’t use SPSS? Using R is so incredibly complicated.” 

Stark smiles sympathetically. “I know, I’m sorry. I hate R too. But I’ve found that excel doesn’t work with multivariate statistics very well, and SPSS doesn’t work with Stark computer software… yet.” 

Bucky runs a hand through his short hair. “Um, okay… I guess… I guess I just wasn’t expecting so much emphasis on stats,” he sighs, “I mean, I’m getting a PsyD in  _ clinical _ psychology, I thought I’d be having more hands on experience with… People, not so much the data. I hate statistics.” 

Tony scoffs. “Tell me about it. And doing it in R is the worst. But, you’re the most qualified person I know to do this. If you need help, you can always just ask. And don’t worry, you’ll start hands on work with people soon.” Shifting in his seat, Tony continues. “Right now though, I need you to code some categorical variables and find any interactions within the dataset that I just sent you. If you find any interactions, you have to find the sim–” 

“–simple effects, yeah.” Bucky gulps. “That’s… A lot. How many cases are there?” 

“10,948.” Tony says with a wince. Bucky’s jaw smashes into the earth. “Okay, you can do it, don’t look so dumbfounded,” the billionaire brings his hands up as if to calm Bucky, “you are right. It is a  _ lot _ of coding. A  _ ton _ of coding, to be honest.” 

_ Breathe.  _ Bucky takes a steadying breath, something he didn’t think he’d have to do so frequently. He doesn’t want to flood the room with his panicked scent. “How many predictors?” 

“Five,” Tony replies. 

“Oh, goody.” Bucky lets out a noise that sounds like he’s been drop-kicked in his solar plexus. 

“Look, you can’t get yourself too stressed out about it. I don’t expect you to finish this task today… This week, even. Just take it step by step,” Tony offers. He pats Bucky on the shoulders. “You can do this. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could.” Tony walks to the door and opens it, pausing. “If you need anything, just let me know.” 

“Oh and by the way, I need you to create crossproduct vectors too,” Tony adds, leaning out the door frame. 

“For five predictors?” Bucky questions rhetorically. Tony nods. “Fudge,” Bucky exhales as he runs his hands down his face. “Can I at least use dummy coding?” 

Again, Tony winces. “Uh… We’d prefer you used effect coding.”

He chokes out an incredulous laugh. “Are you trying to kill me on my first day?” 

“You can’t prove that!” Tony exlclaims loudly as he stalked away. 

Bucky gapes at the empty doorway, looking dumbfounded and feeling like a fucking idiot. 

.

.

.

“Fucking stepwise selection… I hate the coding for this so much,” Bucky says to nobody in particular. The code he’s trying to write isn’t working, and it is  _ pissing him off _ . He knows how to code in R, but goddamn, if it isn’t the most finicky software. 

He peers at the time on his desktop. 12:30. He grabs his backpack and takes out his portable container filled with last night’s leftovers. Chicken, rice, and broccoli. Nothing extra special, but Bucky likes to eat healthy. He brandishes his phone and checks Twitter, absentmindedly scrolling through the app as he munches. 

He sees a viral tweet about how this 18 year old girl found her soulmate while at a restaurant. This guy complimented her shoes, and she replied with a “thanks, I like your hoodie,” and they knew right then and there. 

_ Lucky bitches _ . 

Everybody has a soulmate, but not everyone is fortunate enough to meet theirs. The way it works is simple (usually): when someone meets their soulmate, their soulphrase is spoken within the first few moments of conversation. And then, they just… know. There’s this primal, inveterate understanding, a connection forged wordlessly that starts in the heart and radiates everywhere. And then, suddenly, it isn’t the sun that lights up the world anymore, it’s them. Their soulmate. 

There were a few cases where some people have met their soulmate or saw them in passing and didn’t speak much. Then, the soulphrase wouldn’t have been communicated, thus prolonging the pairing. That’s what happened with Bucky’s grandmother; she had met her grandfather once when she was at a grocery store, but he only gave her a soft “hi” and an even softer smile.

Soulphrases and the way they worked still kind of confuse Bucky. I mean, literally, the way it was supposed to work is kind of convoluted, when he thinks about it. One person is supposed to say this random ass phrase that you just  _ innately _ know, even before you know your language (Bucky  _ really _ has a hard time processing that), and then you just  _ feel _ this connection? It’s not that Bucky doesn’t believe it, because he’s seen it happen before–it’s just that the logistics of it are fucking awful. What if someone has a common phrase? Bucky knew a girl in college whose soulphrase was literally “I like your shoes!” Like, what? Supposedly, you would know when the  _ right _ person said your soulphrase. And Bucky believes it, he does. But it’s just weird, and he can’t deny how stupid it sounds sometimes. Bucky is just glad his soulphrase is something that isn’t generic.

Funnily enough, his phrase is in one of his favorite songs of all time,  _ R.E.M _ by Ariana Grande. Really, it was his favorite line of the song. “Think I heard some wedding bells.” It’s a romantic phrase, and although he’d never admit it, Bucky has spent countless hours thinking of a situation in which his soulphrase would be spoken. How would someone say it within the first few minutes of speaking to someone? Unless his partner is an Ariana Grande stan. But even then, R.E.M is overshadowed by her other songs, so most people don’t know it.  _ Whatever _ . He looks back at his phone and stares at the couple again. 

_ Must be nice _ , Bucky thinks. He can’t help but be jealous. He has always been the biggest fucking romantic. He spends the vast majority of his time daydreaming about being in love and all of the ooey gooey, lovey-dovey stuff that came with it, having countless dreams of being held, going on cute first dates, forehead kisses, all that shit. He loves it. 

Bucky is just a fucking sap, okay? He’s a libra, and while he didn’t know (or care) much about astrology, he does know that he is a fucking  _ hopeless _ romantic, the most hopeless of them all, actually. 

He wants his soulmate and he wants them  _ now _ , damnit, and he was terrified of waiting. Bucky was ashamed to admit that one of his biggest fears is finding his soulmate when he’s older, like in his 50s or something. That wouldn’t leave him with very much time at all to experience love, now would it? 

Bucky’s biggest fear though, was not being able to experience the love of his soulmate. What if he dies in some natural disaster, like an earthquake or something. A bad car accident? Terrorist attack? Bucky does  _ not _ want to die without meeting and being with his soulmate for at least a  _ little  _ bit. And he’d always wondered what would happen if he did die before he met his soulmate. Would his soulmate never find anyone else, then? Did they get a new soulphrase and a new soulmate? What happens after that? Ever the empathetic one, Bucky just hoped nothing happened to him so he and his soulmate, whoever the fuck they were, could be together–be  _ whole _ –for just a moment. 

With Bucky’s seemingly unending bad luck, he wouldn’t be surprised if his soulmate is dead or something. They could live on the other side of the fucking world. He doesn’t know. And as quiet as he keeps it to himself, as much as he hoped he’d find his soulmate, a large part of him, 99% of him, doesn’t think he’ll find them. Happiness wasn’t exactly something that was just laid out on the table for him. He’s been through a lot, like everyone else has. But being an omega, and a male omega at that? He’d been subject to several lifetimes of bullying and evil. It had shaped his worldview and perspective on life: he wants to be as little of an inconvenience as possible. 

Even though he has a loving family, his family can’t be everywhere. The world is a tough place, especially for male omegas. Factor in his pension to ceaselessly worry about any and everything and everyone viewed him as this weak little thing that someone needed to take care of. For the most part, he fucking hates it. There’s one kinda specific circumstance in which he wouldn’t mind being taken care of, but the odds of it actually happening are so miniscule, even without Bucky’s seemingly innate bad luck. 

His gmail notification sounds off, drawing Bucky out of his train of self-pity. A message from AO3.  _ Fuck. Yes.  _ His current favorite story’s been updated, and Bucky quickly logs onto the website from his phone. 

Truthfully, Bucky spends the majority of his time reading fanfiction about someone that he’d developed a soul-consuming crush on, that person being none other than Captain America. 

And, yes, okay, sue him. But like, it isn’t his fault! He’d had a crush on Captain America from the  _ moment _ he came back from the ice five years ago when Bucky was in his junior year of high school. In his freshman year of college, thanks to tumblr, he’d found this nifty website, AO3, that was absolutely  _ stuffed _ with all kinds of cute fanfiction and stories. That rapidly became all Bucky did in his spare time. Every moment he spent alone, he spent reading these stories. All of them were about falling in love with the hunk of a man that was Steve Rogers. 

But when Bucky had developed this crush back at the ripe young age of 16, could he have possibly guessed that he would have ended up working in the same fucking building as him? No. If he ever saw Steve in person, Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d probably disintegrate or melt or sit on the ground and cry. Something embarrassing. Bucky is too shy and easily overwhelmed for his own good. I mean, the last time he saw the hero on tv he started  _ leaking _ . Like, literally  _ leaking slick _ . Thank the universe he was at home, because if he was in public, Bucky might have just run in front of traffic. So if Bucky ever saw him in real life? He might just die. 

  
  
  


Bucky polishes off the last of his rice, finishing his dish. The story was fantastic. Luckily, this chapter didn’t have any detailed smut in it, and Bucky was immensely grateful for that. What he does  _ not _ need is for his horny omega scent to be clogging up the hallways. Besides, the last time that happened, it didn’t end too well for Bucky. He was a little stuck on the idea of Steve, but he pushed it to the side. Why worry about it? The odds of Bucky seeing him are slim to none anyways. 

Sighing longingly for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, (love? Affection? Care? Fuck if he knew) he focuses his attention on his desktop and tries to get this fucking coding right.  _ Lord help me _ . 

  
  
  


At around 3:30, 15 minutes before Bucky was supposed to leave, he gets a text from Tony.

**Tony!Toni!Tone!:** You know we have a volleyball court, right Bucky?” 

No, Bucky did not know that. 

**Bucky:** No, I did not. Are we allowed to use it? 

**Tony!Toni!Tone!:** I’d be insulted if you didn’t. 

**Bucky** : Well, luckily for you, I brought a change of workout clothes in my backpack. 

**Tony!Toni!Tone!:** I figured. That thing is half the size of you. You could probably fit half your wardrobe in there if you tried.

**Bucky:** It’s not  _ my  _ fault I’m 5’5. 

**Tony!Toni!Tone!:** Shut up and go dig some balls. ;)

Saving his R session, Bucky turns off his computer and goes to the bathroom, changing into his workout clothes. He changes into a slim fitting gray Nike shirt and some 5” blue Nike running shorts, complete with some running shoes Bucky still had from doing track the first two years of college. He loves his shorts because they make his ass look really big. He isn’t the most muscular thing around, and really, his biology wouldn’t let him have much muscle anyways, but he does have a nice ass. After tearing his hamstring in high school in the middle of a race at a track meet, Bucky spent months re-strengthening his hamstring and glutes. He did a  _ ton _ of deadlifts, which accentuated both the arch in his back and the curvature of his glute into his hamstring. 

He has a nice ass because he worked for it, and Bucky likes showing it off. 

Striding out of the bathroom and down the hall to the elevator, he steps on and finally relaxes. Bucky loves volleyball. Being an omega, he was never going to be tall enough to be anybody’s hitter, or setter, for that matter, but his ball control was impeccable. His powerful legs allowed him to zip and zoom around the court, pancaking for balls and coming up with impossible digs that somehow were in system. As a matter of fact, out of highschool, Bucky was the most highly recruited defensive specialist in the country. That was how he ended up playing volleyball at USC for the past 4 years. 

As the elevator doors open and he nears the court, he can hear the rhythmic sounds of volleyballs being crushed. It sounds like home. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he did not think that there were going to be too many people there. Buck figured he would do some setting, get about 300 reps in going from pin to pin. Instead, he found that there were some people there that were getting ready to play. 

Setting his stuff down, he begins to stretch by himself, when some people come and sit down next to him. Without looking up, he can smell that at least one of them was an alpha.  _ Yikes _ . Fearing the worst, Bucky keeps his head down, until they both sit on either side of him, one of them speaking up. 

“Hey,” the guy on the right says to Bucky. “I’m Sam.” 

Bucky finally looks up, and  _ holy shit _ , it’s Sam Wilson. From the Avengers. Sitting right next to him. Speaking to him. In the back of his mind Bucky had always known that there was a possibility he might be given the privilege of actually  _ seeing _ one of the Avengers, but he never in a quadrillion years would have thought that he’d actually  _ speak _ to one, let alone have one of them initiate conversation first. 

“And I’m Thor.” Bucky had completely forgotten about the guy on his left. 

Bucky blinks, visibly shaken at what was happening. He doens’t really know what to do, is so painfully shy that he sometimes can just freeze and do absolutely fucking nothing.

“H-hi.” Bucky swallows, “I-uh, I, Tony said that I could play here, I-I didn’t realize that you guys would… be here, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll just go–” 

“Nonsense!” Thor says loudly, clasping a massive, massive hand over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tries to keep his wince of pain as invisible as possible, but he’ll definitely have a bruise there in a few moments. “We were hoping you’d play with us! Tony told us how good you were at this weird game.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs, dragging Bucky’s attention away from Thor. “Sorry about him, Bucky. You wanna play?” 

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “You… you know my name?” 

Sam looks confused for a second. “Yeah… Yeah I do. Tony told us about you. You know you’re going to be helping some of us with our therapy sessions, right? Did he not tell you this?” 

Bucky blinks again. “No. I did not know that,” Bucky leans over with laughter, “I guess better late than never.” 

“Right!” Thor’s voice booms, his loud laughter following shortly after. Sam just glares at him, annoyance clear on his face. 

“Just finish getting warmed up. When you’re done, I’ll introduce you to everyone and we’ll get to play.” Sam smiles. “Also, you’re on my team.” 

“No,” Thor recants, voice too damn loud again, “The handler of the balls is on my team. You already have Natasha.” 

“Shut up, thunderdolt,” Sam mutters under his breath, standing up and walking towards the court. 

Bucky cracks up, because  _ thunderdolt _ is one of the best and cleverest insults he has ever heard in his life. 

Thor gives him a confused look. “What’s so funny?” 

Bucky laughs just a bit harder.

  
  
  
  


“Bucky! Let me introduce you to everyone on our team, the  _ best  _ team,” Sam speaks warmly, “this is Vision.” 

“Hi.” 

Bucky’s heart rate rises, but he tries to keep his voice calm. “Hi,” he replied back. 

Sam continues, “this is Natasha.” 

“Hey.” 

“Hi,” Bucky says with a small smile. 

“And this is Carol.” 

“Hey!,” she exclaims happily, “nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand. Bucky takes it, focusing on keeping his nervous pheromones to himself. 

“Hi, and likewise.” 

Sam claps his hands together. “Alright, so, Bucky, how do you think we should do this?” 

_ Oh shit. _

“...huh?” 

Sam just chuckles a bit. “You and your team won NCAAs twice! You were defensive player of the year  _ twice _ ! Four time first team All-American! You gotta tell us how to win this game!” 

Okay, so how much about him did they know? Casting his eyes down to his shoes, Bucky swears he could feel all of them studying him, expecting something marvelous. 

He had to relax. This isn’t the end of the world. 

_ This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t the end of the world. This isn’t the end of the world.  _

“Uh, uh, I-I,”  _ fuck.  _ Bucky blinks, breathes. Realigns himself. “Um… Does anyone know how to set?” 

Natasha raises her hand. “Yeah. I could never figure out how to set middles, though.” 

Internally, Bucky laughs. Setting the middles is honestly the easiest thing to do, because they are always closest to you as you set the ball. Setting to the pins in an out of system play takes a lot of practice and effort, and even then you still may not have put up a solid, hittable ball. So her being unable to set middles is just… What? 

But now isn’t the time for that. “Well, we’re only playing 5 on 5, so we won’t have a middle.” He takes stock of his teammates.  _ Hmmm. This could actually be really good _ . “So Sam and Vision will be the outsides, Natasha will be the setter–” 

“Please, call me Nat,” she interrupts, a seemingly genuine smile present on her face. 

“Oh, sorry!” Bucky blushes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He fights to keep the confidence from seeping out of him. He’s unsuccessful. “Um. Right. Sorry. Nat will set and play defense, and Carol and I will play defense with her.” 

Vision looks at Bucky, confusion apparent. “I think you overestimate our skills in this activity.” 

Bucky stills, feeling his face crack a little bit. He can feel his anxiety and panic washing over him, spreading out from the top of his spine.  _ Come on, reel it the fuck in Barnes _ . “I-I mean, y’all are literal superheroes. I don’t see how this isn’t going to be the most intense game of volleyball in my life.” Bucky glances across the net. “I mean, come on, Thor and Clint are going to be the outsides. Well. One’s gonna be the oppo. But. I don’t even think y’all know what that means–look, the point is, you guys are super quick and super strong. If anything, I think I am  _ gravely under _ estimating your guys’ ability.” 

Vision’s lips turn upwards slightly, and Natasha has a full smirk.  _ Okay, cool. Glad to know I’m doing  _ something _ right.  _ “Um, let’s get it?” 

“WOOOOOOO!” Sam cheers loudly, causing Bucky to jump about three feet off the ground. “Let’s get em team!” 

Natasha gives Bucky a pat on the ass as she saunters past him to middle back, while he stays in left back. “Nice ass,” she says quietly, giving him a wink. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky scoffs.  _ The black widow just told me I have a nice ass. Y’all can’t tell me  _ shit.

The game itself was wild. The balls were getting hit tremendously hard, and each time Bucky dug one it went up  _ high _ , almost touching the extraordinarily tall ceiling. He noticed the surprised glances he was given by everyone playing with him. Despite everyone’s super strength and speed, nobody could get a kill on lil ol’ Bucky. He knew how to place himself in the right spot given the block. The only time the opposing team scored was when they hit at Carol or Natasha. 

Speaking of Nat. 

She isn’t that great of a setter. Almost all of her sets were too low, and then they were too high, giving Clint and Thor what felt like eons to set up their block. Luckily for their team, whenever Nat or Carol took the first ball, Bucky would set. That was how their team could score points. 

It’s now match point, Bucky is back to serve. He’s been holding back on his serving because Bruce and Wanda weren’t necessarily the best passers, and he doesn’t wanna be a douche by hitting with a quick jump-float or a full-out jump serve. But as he passes Sam to go back to the service line, Sam pats him on the back, a quiet “finish this, Bucky,” leaving the hero’s lips 

Alright. Finish this. 

Jump-float it is. 

He decides to go for zone 1, where Bruce was standing, looking all kinds of nervous. If he could smack the ball in the right way, make it drop and curve to Bruce’s left. It would be an ace. 

As soon as the ball leaves his fingertips for the toss, he knows this toss is gonna be a good one. He flattens his hand and gives the ball a good pop, not following all the way through. It sails over the net and appears to be going right into Bruce’s lap. He stances up for it, expecting it to come high. Instead, it veers left and drops suddenly.  _ Perfect _ . Bruce dives for the ball, but he ultimately didn’t even end up getting a hand on it. 

Thor grunts loudly. “What kind of sorcery?!” He directs everyone’s attention to Bucky across the net. “Are you cheating? Using some kind of magic to make the ball slither around?” 

Sam laughs. “No,” Bucky says shyly, “it’s just… a jump-float serve.” 

Nat fixes Thor with a look that somehow manages to scream “bitch shut up” and “you’re embarrassing me”. “Thor, you idiot, he was one of the best volleyball players in the country.” Walking towards the bleachers, she begins again, “how else do you think he was able to play with us?”

“I do not trust it,” Thor mutters under his breath as he turns back toward the bleachers. 

Putting his towel in the bag after drying his arms off, he picks up his phone and checks the time. 

17:30. 

Ooooh. He’s gotta get home. The sun was beginning to set earlier and earlier in the day, and Bucky doesn’t like being out alone at night. Not after what happened last time. 

Standing up, he pulls out his Jaybird X4s and pairs them to his phone, opting to listen to his favorite podcast, The Read. A shout in his general direction catches his attention. He clears his ears and looks back towards the… well, shit. The  _ Avengers _ , with Sam’s arm raised as though he’s waving. “Bye Bucky!” Sam sounds excited, and it makes Bucky smile. 

“Bye guys! That was really fun. Thanks for letting me play,” Bucky chirps. 

“It was a lot of fun,” says Nat. 

“We’ll have to play again sometime,” Thor adds, “but only under one condition.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow.    
  


The thunder god continues. “You must teach me how to make the ball move in such confusing directions.” 

Once again, a smile breaks out against Bucky’s face. “Of course. It’d be my pleasure.” 

Bruce speaks for the first time. “Oh goodness, no, please, I can’t. My chest still hurts from diving after that ball.” 

Wanda shoves him playfully. “Oh, man up!” 

Clint’s up next. “Actually, do you wanna stay for a bit? I have so many questions about you playing volleyball in college.” 

Bucky glances down at his phone again. 17:35. 

He bites his lip nervously. “Um, I can’t, not today, I gotta, uh,” Bucky has to lie, and he has to lie quick. “I have an assignment due at midnight that I haven’t even started yet.” 

Nat makes a punched out noise, Sam gives an “ooof”. 

“I know, I hate it.” He puts both straps of his backpack on before continuing, “see you guys around.” He has a big smile plastered on his face, and he’s hoping it’ll stay that way all the way home. 

It doesn’t. 

The elevator gets stuck. He is trapped, on the 27th floor, for about 20 minutes before some firefighters come and get him out of the damn thing. If there’s one thing Bucky hates, it’s elevators, and he hates them for this exact reason. He’d only been stuck in one once before as a sophomore in high school, but it was enough to scar him for life. Now, he can  _ feel _ the metal of the metal box he’s in pressing against his skin, his back. He can feel the coldness creeping into his bones, can feel the pressure of being squeezed from all around when suddenly, the doors are being pried open. He sees the three firemen (and firewoman) cough, and he’s briefly confused before he realizes–they’re  _ choking _ on his panic and anxious scent. It had been fermenting since the moment he stepped on the fucking contraption, so it was probably  _ ripe _ . Wow, Bucky feels bad. 

One of the responders, the firewoman, an alpha woman, gives him sympathetic eyes and helps him calm his erratic and irregular breathing. “It’s alright, it’s okay,” she whispers gently, “breathe with me. In… and out.”

She repeats this, her hand on his shoulder, until he is safely out of the elevator and his breathing is steady. 

“Thank you,” Bucky chokes out, voice strained from breathing so hard. 

  
“It’s alright. Do you want to take the elevator down with me? I’ll be there to help if something goes wrong.” How sweet of this woman. Bucky nods. “Okay, let’s go.” 

When Bucky finally gets downstairs, it’s dark. He checks the analog clock on the wall above the exit to the street. 18:58.  _ Fuck. _

Bucky has a bit of a walk to the parking structure, and then once inside, he has to get to his car. 

Bucky is fucking terrified. 

You see, about a month ago, right after he graduated, he had been walking back to his apartment on USC’s campus, minding his own damn business. He had his headphones in and was returning from getting some Chipotle. He loved a good carnitas quesadilla. 

He barely even had time to smell that there was an alpha nearby before he was being pulled into a car with tinted windows. He yelped as he was pulled inside the car, and once he realized where he was a split second later, he opened his mouth to scream. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the alpha said in a deep voice, face partially covered by a surgical mask. “Yell and I’ll slit your fucking throat.” 

And then, Bucky got raped. Violently. 

He was thrown out of the car, landing squarely on his left hip and left shoulder, asphalt scraping the skin. It was excruciatingly painful, especially after what had just transpired. 

Bucky scrambled backward into the street, trying to get away, before the alpha’s growly voice chilled Bucky’s spine, immobilizing him. “I know where you live, bitch. Apartment 3179. Don’t make me have to come fucking kill you. Keep quiet, you fucking bitch.” 

And then, the door slammed shut, and the car peeled off, tires screeching. Bucky was left lying in the middle of the street, tears streaming down his stinging face.

Ever since then, Bucky has had a really hard time being out in public, especially alone, after sunset. He never really felt safe, and he was afraid to be alone. Now that he had to get to his car alone while it was pitch black outside? Bucky honestly wanted to just sleep in the lobby. 

He considers asking one of the security guards for an escort, but he doesn’t want word to get back to Tony. He does  _ not _ need any reason for his boss having any kind of issues with him. 

_ Fuck it _ . He has his taser, and honestly, he doubts he would have to use it. I mean, it’s Stark Tower! People couldn’t be stupid enough to do shit with the Avengers like 300 feet away. Like, there’s no way! 

Right? 

_ Right! Let’s fucking  _ go _ , Barnes.  _

Steeling himself for the second time that day, he exits out of the building. Moving at a brisk pace and keeping his head on an obvious swivel, his shoulders drop just a little as he reaches the parking structure.  _ This is the tricky part.  _

He reaches into his backpack in the usual spot where he keeps his taser. 

He doesn’t have it. 

_ Fuck.  _

Bucky nearly  _ throws  _ his backpack on the ground and rifles through all his belongings in the big bag. He doesn’t find it. 

His heartbeat picks up pace dramatically, and Bucky starts to panic. But, like, really this time. Because this parking lot was massive, and Bucky had parked on the 9th floor. And if you thought he was getting on an elevator again today, you’re fucking wrong. 

_ Fucking shit! _

Bucky is doing his damndest not to panic, because then he’d be releasing panicked and scared omega pheromones into the air, and that would attract alphas–which is exactly what he does  _ not _ want to do. 

“Fuck me,” Bucky groans, and slides his backpack back on. Speedwalking again, Bucky crosses the structure and approaches the staircase. Once inside, he tries to smell if there’s someone else in there, lurking, waiting for him. But he can’t smell anything past his own panic, so that helps absolutely the fuck nothing. 

He settles on sprinting up nine flights of stairs. It is not an easy task, especially with the heavy backpack on his shoulders, but he’s still in pretty good shape from training with the track team this summer, so he manages pretty well. 

Is he still out of breath? Hell the fuck yeah. 

But he doesn’t really have time to stop and catch his breath. He could do that once he got in his car, locked the door, and started moving his car. 

Surprisingly, although late, there are still a lot of cars in the structure. Bucky doesn’t know  _ exactly _ where his car was, vaguely thinks it’s on the side of the parking structure he’s on, so he locks it numerous times and listens to the whistle to know where to go, almost like radar. As he gets relatively close to his vehicle, a noise that sounds like footsteps make Bucky stop in his tracks. It sounds like it came from behind him. Spinning around, Bucky looks at his surroundings. He doesn’t see anyone. “H-hello?” He calls out, voice smaller than he intends it to be. 

Nothing. 

_ Fuck _ . 

If he thought the scent of fear and anxiety were pumping out of him in high quantities before… sheesh. Gulping, Bucky turns back around and starts sprinting towards his car. He makes it three steps, still looking back over his shoulder, before he hits something tall that is hard but also soft at the same time. It’s  _ definitely _ a person, and before he hits the ground, he can smell that it’s an alpha. 

Great. 

He looks up at the person, unable to see their face because of the blinding overhead lights. Whoever the man is (Bucky could see really really  _ big _ pecs) is incredibly tall, with extra large dinner plate size hands that looked like they could snap Bucky’s neck in half if they flexed too hard. 

He yelps, crawling away in fear. “Please, please don’t hurt me! I don’t have any cash on me but I have my card and I–” 

None other than  _ Captain fucking America _ crouches down in front of him, his arms raised as though he means no harm. Bucky exhales deeply, already feeling calm by the mere presence of the hero. 

“Hey, hey,” he cooes, “Buck, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

_ Fuck.  _ Even though he was scared for his life 3 seconds ago, Bucky can already feel the familiar tendrils of arousal beginning to take hold on his nervous system. He can’t help it–he’s practically obsessed with the guy. He couldn’t count how many times he’d trudged through heats, bouncing on his toys and imagining he was with the hero. Who, speaking of which, is  _ really _ tall. Like 6’6 tall.  _ Fuck, that’s hot _ . 

Quickly, Bucky stands up. If there’s one thing he isn’t going to do, it’s fucking  _ get wet  _ at the mere sight of Captain America right  _ in front  _ of Captain America, without him even touching him. Or  _ saying  _ anything  _ nasty _ to him. 

_ Okay, so I definitely have more than just a crush on him _ . 

“S-sorry,” and  _ fuck _ , was Bucky’s voice too damn small and gentle and filled with need, “I uh, I thought you were… Someone else.” 

Cap smiles, and Bucky shivers. Holy  _ shit _ , Bucky is screwed beyond belief. “So I see. Are you alright? You were pretty scared there. I came to help as fast as I could, I’d never smelled someone so frightened before.” 

Before he can stop, Bucky facepalms himself.  _ Of fucking course.  _ Bucky’s life just sucks in that way. 

“Because that’s not embarrassing as all hell,” Bucky murmurs, head still in his palm. “Again, my sincerest apologies. I really didn’t mean to waste your time like that.” 

Cap chuckles, and  _ man _ , is Bucky going to have to get out of there fast because he’s pretty sure he’s about to start smelling like arousal in a moment if he keeps... existing in front of Bucky. 

“You didn’t waste my time. I promise.” Bucky shoots his eyes up, and is greeted with the perfection that is Captain America. He’s wearing sweats that hug his tree trunk thighs extremely well, and a long sleeve that Bucky can see the hard planes of his abs through. Literally, a wet dream. Bucky bites back a moan and is thankful for the relatively strong breeze that blew through the opening in the parking structure, hoping that they carried away Bucky’s aroused scent. Cap chews his lip lightly, looking pensive, before he speaks again. “Um, I…” He pauses, scanning Bucky’s face for something. “Would you maybe, um, wanna get coffee, Buck?” 

Captain America just made a nickname out of his nickname, and he already  _ loved _ it. Speaking of which, Captain America knows his name? All of the Avengers probably know his name, he  _ is _ working with fucking Tony Stark, and is apparently supposed to be therapizing several of the heroes. 

More on that later. Let’s just focus on Bucky, shall we? 

The omega’s eyes nearly pop out of his sockets. “Oh!” He blushes. He’d never actually been asked out on a date before. Not officially, at least. 

“I-I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” Cap throws his arms out gently, expressing Bucky’s agency. 

Bucky flushes even harder, which he didn’t know he could do. “No, I would love to. I just, I uh,” and Bucky can smell his anxiety rising. “I just  _ really _ wasn’t expecting… that.” 

Cap grins endearingly, and my  _ fuck _ , does it make Bucky almost go weak in the knees. “I like to think I’m full of surprises.” Bucky’s shoulders finally relax fully, and Cap is visibly less tense. “Do you wanna go now? There’s a starbucks down the street we can go to if you want…” Cap trails off, noticing Bucky’s blush growing. “Or, we could go some other time? That’s also fine with me! I just,” he runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t wanna overload you. You seem really nervous.” 

Bucky nods excitedly, clearing his throat. “Uh, uh, yeah. Sorry about that, I just have…” Steve is giving Bucky the most earnest, interested gaze, and he suddenly feels a little skittish. “You know what? It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some other time if you care to know.” 

Smiling genuinely, Steve replies. “I’d love to know more about you.” He takes a cautious step toward Bucky. “Do you wanna go to Starbucks now, or do you wanna go later?” 

Realizing he never answered his question, Bucky almost jumped as he feels guilt stab him in the gut. “Yes! Sorry, I thought I answered that question already.” 

Steve takes some steps forward, coming to within three feet of Bucky. “Well, shall we?” 

“Let’s shall, Cap.”

Cap barks out a laugh, one that makes Bucky’s nose crinkle with endearment.  _ How fucking cute. _ “Just call me Steve, Buck.” 

As they walk to the elevator in front of them, Bucky’s mind is  _ racing _ . There are a couple of things swirling around in his head, the main one being that Steve can  _ not _ be his soulmate, because he has not said his soulphrase yet. So what is the point of even going on a date? Bucky, the fucking sap, would leave  _ the _ Captain America high and dry if his soulmate said the magic words; he knows that. And anyways, Bucky personally didn’t believe in dating or even entertaining other people that weren’t his soulmate. Like, what if he has kids with someone that wasn’t his soulmate and then his  _ actual _ soulmate shows up? 

Bucky heard a story about this omega finding their soulmate  _ on the way to their wedding _ , as the limo driver taking the bride to the church said the perfect combination. What if that happened to Bucky? 

He has a really hard time letting himself have nice things. If anything, the universe has shown him over and over again that he doesn’t deserve them. Whether it be the sexual assault, the rarity that is him being a male omega, or the  _ other _ sexual assault he dealt with, happiness was always something that felt like it was taken from him. Really, Bucky doesn't think he knows how to  _ be _ happy. He’s always relied on someone  _ else _ to make him happy. 

Now, is that healthy?

No. 

Does Bucky know this? 

Yeah. 

Is he hoping that finding his soulmate will make him happy?

You bet your sweet ass he is. 

As they descend the floors of the structure in the elevator, Steve makes small talk. Bucky tries not to get wet. Or smell aroused. He can’t help but feel like he’s failing at both. “So, you’re a psychology major.”  _ What a statement _ . 

“Yes,” Buck giggles through his monosyllabic reply. “Indeed I am.” 

“Cool,” Steve says with a smile, “That’s really cool.” Bucky nods, and Steve’s face is giving “I have a question” vibes. 

Bucky takes a leap, boldness coming from heaven knows where. “Are–do… Do you need help with psychology stuff?” 

Steve’s eyes flicker to Bucky’s and  _ shit _ , Bucky wants to get on his  _ knees _ and go to  _ work _ in that elevator chile. But he doesn’t. He has class. He’ll wait until Steve  _ asks _ him to suck his dick in the elevator.  _ Then _ he’ll do it. 

“...how did you know?”

“Eh,” Bucky shrugs. “Lucky guess.”

“W-well, yeah,” Steve stammers as they exit the elevator, “yeah, I’m taking intermediate psych stats because I’m going to college online, it fulfills a GE thing and… yeah.” 

Bucky reflexively wraps an arm around himself as he feels the wind of the night. It isn’t exactly cold, but there is a slight breeze, and Bucky literally only has on short shorts and a long sleeve shirt. His legs are cold. 

“Are you cold?” Steve questions, already beginning to take off his crewneck. 

“No!” Bucky moves his arms back and forth, “no, I’m not, I’ll be fine, really.” 

“Are you sure?” 

_ God _ , Steve sounds so concerned and  _ fuck _ , it just makes Bucky want to jump him, kiss him and kiss him over and over again. 

“Yeah! I promise,” Bucky says with a smile. “So what exactly are you struggling with?” 

“Uh, well, I’m kinda having trouble with ANOVAs and Mixed ANOVAs also Chi-Squares… basically everything. Independent samples t-tests, and then confidence intervals. What even are those? And then the… tails? What do the tails have to do with anything.” Steve was gumbling at this point. “Oh, and how could I forget ANCOVAs? Like what the heck even is that?” 

Steve holds the door open for Bucky, and the younger is caught up in thinking about how  _ adorable _ it is that this nearly 100 year-old man is so flustered by statistics. “Thank you,” Bucky whispers, blushing.  _ Fuck _ . The bigger man seems to notice Bucky’s heating up and gives him a wink that the omega can’t quite interperpret. 

“So, well, I can help you… With all of that. If you’d like.” 

Steve’s face lights up like a christmas tree. “Can you? Please? I’d be so, so grateful if you could.” 

“Of course Steve, I’d love to.” Bucky steps up to the counter. “Can I get a grande chai latte please? Hot.” 

The barista does not register that Bucky has even spoken; no, she has her eyes trained on the man behind her. Captain fucking America. Of course. Bucky doesn’t know why, but it makes him feel like shit. He doesn’t get angry, he just gets… sad. He feels dejected. This type of shit has happened to him all his life, and after today, he doesn’t have the strength to pry her attention away from the demigod behind him. His shoulders hunch over and Bucky moves to the side, about to go sit down when the  _ biggest _ hand he’s ever seen grabs at the right side of his waist, preventing him from moving. 

Bucky  _ swoons _ internally. He swallows a whimper because Captain America has not only touched him, but touched him possessively. Regardless of whether or not he was Bucky’s mate, he was still Steve Rogers, the man who Bucky was unequivocally in love with. There was no way in hell Bucky was  _ not _ going to enjoy this. 

“Excuse me, someone’s talking to you.” Steve sounds angry. 

Steve also sounds possessive. 

Bucky’s hindbrain is pleased. 

“I’m sorry, what?” The beta barista asks cutely, twirling her hair and releasing a  _ sickening _ amount of what Bucky liked to call “fuck me” pheromones. She tilts her neck to the side, submitting, and Bucky can already feel his own possessive growl beginning in the back of his throat. He stops it before it’s vocalized. 

Steve sighs, annoyed. “Nevermind. Can I get a venti chai latte please?” 

Rubbing her neck in a way Bucky can only  _ assume _ the beta _ thinks _ is seductive, she continues, voice sultry. “Of course, sir,” she licks her lips, “can I get you anything else?” She’s leaning towards him, pushing her breasts out and pouting slightly. 

Ugh. 

“No.” Steve is gruff. Bucky likes gruff Steve. 

The beta’s face falls, and the following words tumble from her mouth. “Oh. Okay. Your total is $4.45. How will you pay today?” 

Steve pulls a $5 bill from his pocket and places it in the beta’s awaiting hands, making a show of not touching her at  _ all. _ If Bucky couldn’t see her face to know she was embarrassed, he surely could fucking smell it. The acrid scent was  _ strong _ , making bucky’s nose twitch unpleasantly. 

“Keep the change,” Steve rumbles from behind him.

And then suddenly, Bucky is being guided to a table in the otherwise empty Starbucks, Steve’s hand still firm on his right hip. The scent of annoyance and displeasure is coming off of Cap in small waves, and Bucky wants to make it better.

“I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Buck, love, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Steve pulls a chair out of Bucky, then scoots him into the table. He’s beet red now. “She should just have paid attention to you. It’s her job. I hate when people overlook Omegas, it–” Steve’s hands ball as he sits down across from the smaller frame. “It just really, irks me. Sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep any boundaries.” 

“No!”  _ No the fuck you did not, that was the  _ hottest _ thing I’ve ever seen in my  _ life. “It’s okay. I um–I’m used to it… to stuff like that happening.” Steve gives Bucky a look that conveys how bad he feels about his plight, and how he wishes he could help. It’s intense, and Bucky can’t handle it. The pet name Steve just used on him is also not lost on Bucky. Before he produces enough slick to drown the entire western seaboard, he takes out his notebook, flipping it around to show Steve the material. 

“Um,” Bucky says, flushed, “These are my notes on ANOVAs from  _ my _ intermediate stats class. What did you need help with exactly? The whole thing, certain sections, or…?” 

Bucky directs his attention to Steve, who looks…  _ stuck _ . Like, he can’t get past something. Disbelief. 

Steve points a thick, long finger at something Bucky’s written in the margin. “This… this line. Are those… lyrics?” 

Bucky doesn’t even move, knowing that he used to write song lyrics  _ all over _ everything when he took notes on physical paper. “Oh,” he chuckles, embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah those probably are.” 

Steve looks up at Bucky, wonder written on his face. “Does…” 

Bucky absentmindedly reads what it says aloud. “... _ but I just wanna stand and yell, I would never dare to tell _ ,–”

“– **think I heard some wedding bells** …” 

_ Excuse the fuck out of me?!?!  _

And Bucky just  _ knows _ . He feels it. In his heart, his brain, his spine, in his  _ soul _ , which he couldn’t feel until a moment ago. And when he focuses on his soul, he feels not one heartbeat, but two. 

It’s as if Zeus uncapped lightning in Bucky’s soul and it spread to every quantum particle in him. He gushes, the exhilaration of the whole thing kicking him in the gut. “I…” Bucky begins, but doesn’t know where to go.

Steve looks like he’s faring the same. His scent is something that can only be described as contentment, and he’s looking at Buck like he’s the architect of the universe. It’s incredibly endearing and warms Bucky’s rapidly beating heart. “Wow,” Steve, his  _ soulmate _ gasps, “you… you’re my soulmate.” His hand grabs Bucky’s, dwarfing it almost entirely. “I–I thought I’d never meet mine, because of the ice and I just–” 

Steve’s having a  _ fit _ across the table, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do, because even though  _ he’s  _ losing  _ his _ mind, he’s still able to form coherent sentences and like… move his body. Steve is frozen, staring at Bucky with reverence and awe and love and  _ everything positive _ , but is immovable. Bucky can see a lifetime’s worth of events making sense behind his eyes. 

“Steve, hey, hey,” Bucky clasps his other hand over the one Steve had placed over his. He rubs his thumb over Steve’s scent gland, trying to pull him from his thoughts. “Hey, big guy, it’s okay. I’m right here.” 

Steve lets a deep breath go he wasn’t aware he was holding. “I’m sorry, Buck, I...I never thought that I’d meet you, and then you open your notebook and I see the phrase written  _ so clearly _ , it was like everything just  _ clicked  _ and I–wow. Can I hug you? Please?” 

_ I’d rather you kiss me. _

“Of course.” 

Steve stands up, bringing bucky to his feet with him. He hoists Bucky up in the air, hugging him so tight he coughs. 

Steve sets Bucky on the ground gently and looks down into his eyes. Steve’s expression is once again unreadable in a way; he can see and smell love, happiness, and desire in his facial features, but can see that Steve  _ wants _ something. Bucky doesn’t know what that something is though. When Steve gingerly puts both of his hands on Bucky’s waist, the omega realizes what’s about to happen, and he tenses up an imperceptible amount. Sour notes must creep into Bucky’s scent, because Steve immediately stops touching Bucky like his hands are branding irons. Grabbing his wrist before he can move away, Bucky whimpers desperately for Steve to touch him again. 

_ Whimper? Where did a  _ whimper _ come from? _

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” 

He sheepishly stares at the ground before replying, smelling Steve’s spiking concern. “Nothing, I just–I get embarrassed really easily and I…” He takes a deep breath, “I’ve never actually kissed anyone before...”

Steve gapes. And then smiles. 

“Okay. That’s no problem sweetheart.” 


	2. just let me be in your life like that, be your wife like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That wasn’t the first time that happened to me.” Steve’s hands, which are gripping each other around Bucky’s midsection, squeeze each other so hard some of the joints in his fingers crack.
> 
> “Would you be comfortable telling me about that one too?” 
> 
> Bless Steve, he’s really trying to be calm about this. 
> 
> “Um, well, I um. I used to have this friend. His name was Brock.” Bucky exhales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Bucky has a sister named Becca. I just wanted him to have a brother named Jayvin. Fight me!!!!!!
> 
> Also, TW. There is a graphic depiction of sexual assault (r*pe) in this chapter. There is also a (brief) fight (if you wanna call it that) scene. Nothing particularly violent, I don't think. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it! 11.5k words of... stuff.

_Sweetheart._ Wow. That pet name makes Bucky’s knees want to fold in on themselves. _Jesus._

“So, then let me ask you this then: have you ever been on a date?” 

Bucky flushes, knows he’s turning crimson. He doubts Steve will not want to be with him anymore, but like, fuck, who wants to be with the 21-year-old virgin? Although virgin by technicality. It still counts. “Uh, I, well–it’s… uh… no.” 

Steve smiles. “Can I take you out on one soon?” He asks genuinely, voice syrupy smooth. It makes Bucky’s insides stir a bit. 

“O–of course. I’d be honored.” Bucky feels like he’s a fucking fawn trying to walk for the first time. He supposes that it technically is, since no one’s ever _really_ asked him out on a date before. 

“Grande chai? Hot,” the beta says, sounding dejected. She had to have seen the events that just transpired. _How fucking awkward,_ Bucky thinks, _but then again fuck her, because she had some nerve ignoring me like that_. 

Breaking eye contact with Steve yet again, Bucky turns. “I’ll get–”

“–No no babe, it’s fine, I’ll get it. Be right back.” 

_Babe._ Bucky feels like he’s gonna catch on fire.

He feels eyes on the side of his face, and when he looks near the register, the disgruntled face of the beta cashier startles him. She looks _irate,_ like Bucky stole her man from her hands and then spat in her face. It makes him uncomfortable, the intensity with which she’s staring at him drawing Bucky’s anxiety levels up. Steve must smell it, because before he knows it, he’s grabbing his right hip again and steering him out of the store, his soulmate’s backpack slung over a big boulder shoulder. 

“I knew she was gonna be a problem as soon as I walked in,” Steve grumbles, the scent of anger drenching the air around him. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do, so he does what comes naturally: he blames himself, without even realizing he’s doing it. “Hey, it’s okay, I–we–I probably should’ve let you order for me, there’s no way she was going to pay attention to me when _Captain America_ is standing behind me.” 

They come to a stop at the crosswalk, and Steve meets Bucky’s eyes. “Bucky, wh–” he looks around, incredulous and trying to find words, “why would you say that?” 

Bucky’s heart drops. How did he fuck up now? “W–what do you mean?” 

The bigger man sighs, handing Bucky his drink. It’s warm. “Why are you acting like it’s your fault?” His blue oceans are grabbing at Bucky’s _soul,_ and he can’t take it. 

He throws his eyes elsewhere. “I…” He doesn’t know what to say. As the light changes and the crosswalk sign activates, he steps off the curb, Steve following closely, scanning the surrounding area. _Already so protective. Goodness, that shouldn’t be so hot._ “I… isn’t it? I mean, it’s _you_ , I can’t really blame her. I might’ve done the same thing.” 

The hero kisses his teeth. “No you wouldn’t. You would’ve helped the customer in front of you. And you know that.” He gives Bucky a weird look, and Bucky thinks he’s cataloguing his behavior. 

“I… okay,” Bucky says as they enter the parking structure elevator, “I don’t know why. I just–I really don’t want you to be upset or angry.” 

Now Steve _really_ gives him a bizarre look, one that screams, ‘are you serious right now?’ And then he starts talking again. “So, honey, you would rather shift the blame onto yourself?” Bucky’s trying not to sublimate into the fucking air vent at _another_ new pet name. “That… that makes no sense. So then I’d just be mad at you? If what you wanted to happen actually, I don’t know, happened?” 

Well when you put it like that… 

Wow, Bucky’s fucking dumb. The elevator doors open and Bucky steps off like the cabin was filled with horrid smelling sulphur. 

Yeah, Bucky feels like a fucking nonce. 

And Steve must see it on his face, because he’s grabbing at Bucky again. His right shoulder. Wow, Steve is getting really lucky with only getting his hands on Bucky’s right side isn’t he?

“Hey,” he starts, “It’s okay. I’m not making fun of you or even calling you stupid. I just want you to know that blaming yourself for things you didn’t do doesn’t make any sense. And it probably won’t work, either.” He keeps his eyes locked on Bucky’s for a few seconds after he finishes talking, like he expects an answer. 

Again, Bucky really can’t handle eye contact, especially from Steve, so he looks down before he nods. 

Steve says something about it as they walk to Bucky’s car. “And–if you don’t mind me asking–why do you always look away when we make eye contact?” 

Bucky’s steps stutter. He glances at Steve and starts walking again. ‘It’s… complicated. Omega stuff, I’d have to say, ultimately.” He unlocks his car door, stopping in front of it to talk to Steve. 

“...do you wanna talk about it? I really want to hear more about it.” He takes a step forward, inserting himself into Bucky’s space. “And honestly, honey, I don’t want to leave you right now. I just got you…” 

_Fuck._

This time Bucky _knows_ that Steve can smell the arousal on him because he’s so close. Steve grins, and then promptly backs up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do–I–I wanna do this… right. With you.” 

_What does that even mean?_

“Alright, so, no, you don’t have to go anywhere–I don’t want to leave you either.” Bucky gives Steve a small smile, stepping a little closer to him. “Come get in the car with me. We can drive around, if you want.” 

A soul-melting smile washes over Steve’s face. They separate, getting in the car. “So,” Buck continues, “what did you mean when you said you wanted to do this right?” 

Steve shifts, putting on his seatbelt as Bucky does the same. “Ah, um,” he clears his throat, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” 

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to press a bit. “Well, no, what did you mean,” he asks innocently as he starts his car. 

The man in the passenger seat grins sheepishly. “Well, I mean, I shouldn’t have said ‘done this right’, because honestly, Buck, I don’t really know how to court a guy.” Bucky gives him a confused look in passing as he turns to see behind him, backing his car up. “Well, okay. Let me explain.” 

“Please do, because I’m lost.” 

Steve chuckles. _Fuck_ does it make Bucky just want to sit in Steve’s lap. 

“I’ve only ever courted dames. I’ve definitely been with my fair share of guys, but in terms of, you know, courting? Only ever dames. So when I say do this right, that’s the frame of reference I have. But you aren’t a dame, so I can’t treat you like one and–”

“–that’s okay.” 

Steve looks at him, perplexed. Bucky can only see it from the corner of his eyes. “I mean, I,” and good _fuck_ Bucky is nervous now, “I wouldn’t mind… if you did that. I…” Bucky visibly bites his tongue, holding back his thoughts. “I really wouldn’t mind. I’d actually… I honestly want that.” 

He keeps his eyes fucking _glued_ to the road in front of him, unsure of what Steve is about to say. He can’t smell anything other than his own fucking anxiety about the whole situation, and _fuck_ , Bucky thinks, _I need to buy more scent neutralizers for my car._

Years, millenia, _eons,_ who fucking _knows_ how much time passes before Steve replies. “Cool. Then you’ll be my dame?” 

Was it… Was it that easy?  
  


“O-of course. I’d love to,” Bucky stammers.

“Well then, it’s settled. I’m your guy, and you’re my girl.”

Bucky feels like stopping the car and running outside to do a double layout. His happiness is not only palpable, but fragrant. Steve flashes him a knowing smile, and Bucky blushes. 

.

.

.

Almost _six_ (6) hours later, Bucky’s driving aimlessly down Orange Grove, coming back around the Rose Bowl. He and Steve, _his guy,_ have been playing some stupid questions game for the past four and a half hours.

They have learned so much about each other. 

They’re having a blast. 

“So what’s your favorite color, honey?” 

Each time Steve uses a pet name, Bucky’s heart sputters just a wee bit. “Maroon. You?” 

“Blue. Um, what’s a food that you hate that everyone loves?” 

“I have so many. Shrimp, avocado, In-n-Out, strawberries.” 

There’s an audible gasp. “WHAT!? You don’t like avocados? Or In-n-Out? And you were born and raised in Pasadena?” 

Bucky smiles. “Yep. I hate it. A lot. And avocados just taste like… like mush. The texture is awful. That’s why I hate shrimp too. The ridges on shrimp make me wretch.” 

Steve just gapes. “And here _I_ thought _I_ was gonna be the crazy one when I said that I don’t like brussel sprouts.” 

“Oh, I hate those too,” Bucky says with a laugh. 

“Crap,” Steve sighs out, “It’s almost two in the morning. I gotta get you home, sweetie. You’ve gotta get up in the morning. My girl needs her beauty sleep.” 

Bucky blushes.

“And goodness, you look so pretty when you blush.” 

Bucky’s breath hitches. 

“So do you want me to take you back to the Tower then? Or…” 

“No, I wanna make sure you get home safe. I’ll call an uber when I get to your house. If that’s alright with you, darlin’.”

“O-okay,” Bucky silently curses himself for being so stutter-y. 

  
  
  


20 minutes later they’re parking in the driveway of Bucky’s empty house up near the top of Fair Oaks. “Oh, um, where is everyone?” Steve asks, noticing the lack of cars in front of the house.

Bucky blinks, grabs his keys from the side of his backpack. “My mom moved. She lives in Irvine now. Left me the house. My brother Jaylor lives in Seattle now. And I don’t know where my dad is. It’s just me here.” He opens the door and steps inside, Steve right behind him. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, you told me that your mom had moved but I didn’t know about your dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats. 

He closes the door behind Steve, locking it. He’s got three deadbolts. Two of them are newly installed. Bucky can tell that Steve notices this, but doesn’t say anything.

Bucky is grateful. 

“It’s okay Steve, really, I promise.” Bucky moves to place his backpack down on the floor next to the dining room table. 

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, hands in his pockets. He’s looking around, trying to take everything in. 

Bucky’s changed a lot of stuff in the house. Most of the pictures are located in Bucky’s room now. The only pictures on the first floor are paintings. 

“Thank you,” Bucky replies, smiling. “I redid a lot of it.” 

“Did you now?” Steve’s got a gleam in his eye. “I hope my girl didn’t do any heavy lifting…” 

Bucky laughs, taking off the hoodie he’d dawned while in the car with Steve. The superhuman always ran hot, Bucky had come to find out, so he’d had to blast the AC. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

Bucky’s head is still in his hoodie when he smells Steve’s worry. He throws the hoodie off, looking at the alpha with concerned eyes. 

“Bucky,” Steve begins, staring at his heavily bruised left shoulder, “what happened?” 

_Fuck._

The shorter man gulps, fixes his shirt so his injuries aren’t showing, gets nervous. _Wrong move._ Now Steve’s really concerned. In a moment, Steve is standing next to him, hands hovering above Bucky’s shoulder as if he could draw the pain away. “What happened?” Steve asks again, but there’s more authority in his tone. 

Bucky considers lying, but then, like, why? He’d have to tell him at some point or another. 

“Um, I…” Steve’s boring holes into his irises, anxiously awaiting the next word to spill from Bucky’s lips. “Let’s… Let’s sit down.” 

Steve shoots Bucky a worried glance before pulling out his chair and Bucky’s. They sit down, his hands still levitating right above Bucky’s shoulder. 

“I… before I start this, Steve, please, don’t get mad at me.” 

Steve’s face softens. “Of course, Bucky. I’d never judge you for anything, either.” 

The younger man swallows. “Well, I um. I don’t really know how to explain this…? So I’ll just make it quick.” He closes his eyes before he speaks again. “I got–” Bucky’s own ragged breath cuts him off. He doesn’t know where he came from. He can smell Steve’s anxiety going through the roof, so he knows he better make this quick. “Someone raped me.” 

Steve’s chair slides back so fast Bucky’s pretty sure it didn’t even scrape against the wood. “I’M SORRY?!” Steve questions in disbelief. “WHAT?!” 

Bucky’s heart is _pounding,_ and he’s terrified of Steve. He knows he wouldn’t hurt him; no, he’d never do that. But what _is_ Steve going to do? That’s the question. 

Because what _can’t_ Captain America do? 

Bucky stands up, wringing his hands, unsure of his next action. Steve is pacing in the middle of the living room now, a low constant growl rumbling in his chest. What does he say? Is he mad at Bucky? 

“Steve I’m sorry, I–”

The alpha scoffs. “And then you _apologize?!_ ” He throws his hands up above his head, fingertips scraping the ceiling, “are you even real?!” 

Bucky doesn’t know what that means. He just looks at Steve nervously, who has resumed his pacing. Bucky’s facial expression can best be described as “ .__. “. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck he should do, or what Steve means. After 3 minutes of Steve’s pacing, growling, and grumbling, Bucky’s had enough. 

“Steve, please talk to me, I–I’m so scared, what do you want me to do?” 

That snaps Steve directly out of it. He locks eyes with Bucky, determined, eyes steely, and strides over to him. Bucky has to fight the instinct to take a step back, but casts his eyes down. 

“Bucky, sweetheart, look at me. Please,” Steve asks as he tenderly locks their hands together.

He slowly brings his eyes up. “What happened to you is not your fault. Okay?” Bucky nods. “I need you to say it, baby.”

“Okay…” Bucky’s voice is shaky. 

“Okay? This isn't your fault. At all. And I’m so sorry I frightened you, doll. I just–I’m so _angry_ at the fact that someone hurt you, and not only that but in _that way._ They took away your choice, your… your innocence. And to think, that was your first time? How long ago did it happen?” 

Bucky winces. 

“Babylove, what? What’s wrong?” 

Bucky sighs, bracing himself. “Steve, please don’t get mad like that again.” 

Steve flushes, the piercing scent of anger filling the air again. He swallows thickly, clearly putting his emotions somewhere within. “Of course Buck. I will _never,_ _ever_ hurt you. I swear.” He gives Buck a heated gaze. “Can I kiss you on the cheek?” 

He looks up at Steve, wide-eyed, and nods. 

The taller man leans down, casually sniffing Bucky before putting a chaste kiss on his left cheek, exhaling deeply as his soft lips make contact with the skin. Almost as though the kiss grounds him. 

“Can you please tell me what happened?” Steve asks as he pulls back. 

“C–can we sit down first?” 

“Of course, baby.” He pulls Bucky down onto the couch, drawing him into his massive chest, tree trunk arms surrounding him. _God, he feels so good. And he makes me feel so fucking safe._ Smelling Bucky’s emotions, Steve grunts happily. 

“That wasn’t the first time that happened to me.” Steve’s hands, which are gripping each other around Bucky’s midsection, squeeze each other so hard some of the joints in his fingers crack.

“Would you be comfortable telling me about that one too?” 

Bless Steve, he’s really trying to be calm about this. 

“Um, well, I um. I used to have this friend. His name was Brock.” Bucky exhales. “We were best friends since kindergarten. He used to always look out for me growing up, I was so damn tiny. And as we got older I could tell that he, ya know, liked me. He presented early, at age 13–I was a late bloomer. I didn’t present until I was 16. But it’s not like I didn’t know or anything. I could tell I was an omega when I was a kid.

“Anyways, I presented, and then had my first heat shortly after. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I didn’t know anything about heats. My brother is an alpha, my mom a beta. I… we just… never discussed it.” Bucky pauses. “My brother was away at college, my mom was gone on a work trip. I was going to be home alone for 4 days. The _Saturday morning_ my mom left, I started having symptoms. But I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I was so achy and needy for something, I just didn’t know what.” Steve squeezes Bucky a little at that. “I had planned to spend the whole day with Brock, playing video games and whatnot, keep me occupied. Keep my mind off of being alone in my own damn house.

“He knocked, and before I could really even open the door good, he pounced on me. It was the worst thing ever.” Steve shudders. “I… there was no prep, no nothing. It hurt, so. Fucking. Much. And he tried so hard to bite me, to claim me. I somehow stopped him from doing it, though…” Bucky takes a steadying breath. “I hated it; I _loathed_ it. But I wanted it. _I fucking wanted it/_ And that’s the worst part about it.” Bucky gulps. “He spent two days in my house doing those things to me. I didn’t eat anything, didn’t drink anything. If my mom didn’t come home early, concerned about me not answering my phone, I probably would’ve died of dehydration. _On his knot._ On his _fucking knot._

“Couldn’t even fucking press charges. I couldn’t even _fucking press charges._ Because omegas don’t have rights like that. He just got to walk away, after he nearly _killed me._ And I had to look at him in his face almost every day at volleyball _and_ track practice. When I tried to tell people what he did to me, everyone just assumed that I was lying. I’m only an omega after all, I’m _built to take knots/_ I should be _fucking grateful_ that the _big, beautiful Brock_ wanted me.” Bucky scoffs. “I still can’t believe it.” 

Steve is absolutely silent next to him. His hands are still wrapped around Bucky, a comforting presence, but his body is rigid. Bucky can’t smell anything on Steve. Whether that’s because the scent of his own anger is overpowering, or if it’s because Steve genuinely doesn’t have a reaction, Bucky doesn’t know. He begins to panic, starts to pull away from Steve when he tightens his grip around him. “Bucky, I…” He says shakily. “I… I don’t know what to say. I… how can I fix this?” He picks Bucky up with one arm, like he’s weightless, and Bucky’s breath hitches. Settling the smaller man in his lap, Steve looks at him reverently. “What do you need me to do, honey? I wanna make this right for you.” 

Bucky’s heart clenches. But his big ass mouth speaks before he does. “You’re not mad?” 

Steve’s face changes, eyes harden in a way that Bucky can only imagine happens before he kills some Hydra bogey. “Oh, I’m livid, sweetheart. I’ll kill Brock and the other guy that did this to you. But I’m not worried about that because that won’t be a challenge. I _am_ worried about you, baby.” He puts a baseball mitt size hand behind Bucky’s neck, its warmth making Bucky’s shoulders drop. He leans forward slightly before correcting himself, not wanting to push Steve’s boundaries. Steve presses him against his chest anyway, and Bucky lets out a content noise, bordering on a whimper. “That’s a lot to go through, honey. Not once, but twice. Is laying on me making your shoulder hurt?” 

And then. 

And then, Bucky notices it for the first time. 

Steve’s hand on the back of Bucky’s neck feels like it’s made of magma, and it is a _delicious_ burn, one that Bucky can’t get enough of. He guesses he’d been too busy being in shock of Steve being his soulmate and then going through his traumatic emotions that he forgot.

Literally, it was the first time Bucky had ever been touched like this, been cradled like this by someone other than his mother when he was a child. It feels so good, the hand on his neck, and he wants it _everywhere/_

He’s a 21 year old omega that has never been consensually knotted or cuddled or kissed or anything, and here is this demigod that he’d been in love with for _years_ now and he just plops in front of Bucky and is all perfect and strong and muscular and cuddly and _fuck,_ Bucky’s never sucked a dick or really done anything sexual. But oh goodness, does he _want,_ and does he want intensely. 

Steve shakes him, takes his hand off his neck to put it on his lower back, over his shirt. “Bucky?!” The new position of his hand feels nice, but it’s not skin to skin, it’s not Steve’s searingly hot hands on Bucky’s proverbial glacial skin. It isn’t enough. He doesn’t have time to complain though, because he remembers that he has to reply. 

“Yes! Sorry, I um… no, it doesn’t hurt. You feel really, really good,” Bucky says into Steve’s neck, his breasting ghosting over the Alpha’s mating gland. 

“Are you sure?” 

_How does he manage to be so caring and so cute at the same time?_ “Yeah, I promise Stevie. I mean, Steve. Sorry.” 

The bigger man just laughs, moving Bucky with each rise and collapse of the expansive chest. “Stevie is perfect, dollface.” 

Bucky is quiet, just nuzzles more into Steve’s neck. Closer to his mating gland. His scent is comforting, and Bucky can tell he isn’t putting out any extra pheromones. He inhales, committing the scent to memory. Steve smells like petrichor, a tinge of peppermint, and pine. Mostly petrichor though, and Bucky has always been enamored with the smell. It hardly _ever_ rained in SoCal, so whenever he could smell it, it was glorious for Buck. 

Steve’s absentmindedly rubbing his hands up and down Bucky’s back, his grip loose on Bucky’s body. Bucky doesn’t know why, but he desperately wants Steve to hold him tighter. Like, squeeze him to death. He thinks it probably has to do with the fact that it might make him feel safer somehow. “S-Steve?” 

“Yeah, babydoll?” His voice is deeper than he’s ever heard it, and it does things to Bucky’s insides. He squashes that feeling down, focusing on asking Steve his question.

“Can you, um…” God, Bucky _hates_ that he’s so fucking shy and scared to ask questions. Especially to Steve. Bucky knows, can _feel_ that Steve couldn’t tell him no. _Ugh, fuck._ “Can you hold me tighter?” 

Steve stills for a moment, then crosses his arms around Bucky’s lower back and brings him impossibly closer to the muscled torso. Bucky’s heart stops beating for a minute, and then he gives a content sigh. He’s never felt more safe, sitting in his alpha’s lap wrapped up in his strong, protective arms. He closes his eyes and tries to commit the moment to memory. 

He’s not sure how long he stays there, but Steve finally says something. “Bucky, honey, it’s almost 4:00. You have to be in the office at 9:00 tomorrow.” 

Bucky doesn’t stir, just replies back. “I usually sleep two and half hours to three hours a night anyway.” And then he realizes that Steve needs to go to sleep because, _oh yeah,_ he has his own life. Bucky leans back from Steve quickly, embarrassment flooding him. Steve gives him a confused look. 

“Sweetcheeks, what’s wrong?” His blue orbs are so full of care, something Bucky will never be able to get over, he’s sure. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Sorry, I just–I got caught up in… in you. But I know you probably want to go so,” Bucky scoots off Steve’s lap, “sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you out so late.” 

Steve cups Bucky’s face with one large hand. “Bucky, doll, _I don’t want to go._ But I have to. I have a meeting in about 3 hours that I have to be dressed nicely for. Otherwise, I’d ask to spend the night.” He plants a soft kiss on Bucky's temple. “But you’ll see me tomorrow baby, I promise.” 

Bucky can’t help the pathetic response that just _empties_ out of his chest. “You promise?” And _my fuck,_ even his voice is small and sad and scared. 

Steve pulls Bucky in again. “God, yes Bucky. I don’t want to leave you alone. I just want to hold you all night and all day, you’re so perfect.” Bucky shivers, hard, but Steve keeps speaking. “If there was anything I could do to get out of this meeting and just _be with you,_ I would, baby, you gotta believe me.” 

Steve locks eyes with Bucky, looking slightly down at him. “Do you trust me, Bucky?” 

And Bucky, ever the sap, replies with a choked off, “With my life, Stevie.” 

Steve brings him into a crushing hug. “I’d never lie to you, Bucky.” 

Bucky nods into Steve’s neck, the scent of urgency smacking him across the face. 

“You have to order your Lyft, Stevie.” 

“Right.” 

  
  
  
  
  


The next day, Bucky is sitting in his office, frustrated again with this fucking coding thing. Although it took him 4 fucking hours, he had gotten the code for stepwise selection right. Now he had to figure out the coding for the interactions. It was difficult because there were _five_ fucking predictors. To add insult to injury, Tony had also wanted to know if any of the variables were a mediator or moderator for any of the other variables. 

Bucky wants to fling himself out of his 39th story window. 

He hadn’t seen Steve yet today, barely messaged him too. Apparently he’d been getting grilled about why the fuck he came back to the tower at 4:45 in the morning, and was deflecting like shit. And Nick Fury was probably about to send him on a mission soon. 

Fuck. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Bucky can barely open his mouth to say something when the door opens. 

_Oh?_

“Hey,” Nat says, sitting in the chair across Bucky’s desk.

“Erm, hi Nat.” 

She grins. “So, how exactly did you find out that you and Steve were soulmates?” 

She’s not shy at all is she? 

Bucky is, though. 

He blushes, but Nat’s just giving him a knowing, kind smile. “Come on, you can tell me. I wanna hear all about it.” 

_Fuck it. I need a break from coding anyways._

“Um, well, he smelled me having a panic attack in the parking structure basically, and he–”

“–Why were you having a panic attack in the parking structure?” 

Bucky involuntarily makes a pained expression. “Long story.” 

“Sorry.” 

It’s genuine. 

“It’s okay.” He starts again. “Anyway, he basically asked me on a date to Starbucks and asked me for psych help. When I took out my notebook, he noticed one of the song lyrics I doodled in there. I said his soulphrase, he responded with mine.” 

Nat smiles. “How cute.” She leans forward a little bit, a devious look on her face. “So how was he?” 

Bucky can tell she means something sexual, but Bucky literally has never kissed anyone before, so… awkward. 

“We… I’ve never even had my first kiss. Nothing really, um, happened.” Bucky’s looking at his hands fiddling together on the desk in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, but how? You’re so cute! And your butt is amazing!” She has this shocked look on her face, and Bucky feels bad. _If only you knew._

“It’s… It’s just a long story, ya know?” He’s sure he’s putting out ‘i’m uncomfortable’ pheromones now, and thankfully, Nat backs down. 

“Yeah, no of course. I’m sorry,” she replies, leaning back in her chair, “I just… He’s had this dopey ass smile all morning. You’d think he got laid. _Finally._ ”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, I’m afraid the most I did was give him a hug.”

“Oh! By the way,” she says, reaching into her bag and getting out an envelope. She places it on Bucky’s desk. “He asked me to give you this during the meeting this morning.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow as he carefully opens it. It’s creased _perfectly_ in half, on some fancy cardstock. When he unfurls it, he smiles. Steve had drawn two wedding bells, complete with a decorative sash and colors and shading and everything. The bells themselves are maroon, Bucky’s favorite color, and the sash is a pretty shade of off-white. There’s a small note on the back of it, Steve’s surprisingly neat handwriting written in the bottom corner. 

‘you’ll hear the wedding bells soon, Buck.’ 

_Fuck._

He’s such a fucking sap, and he feels his throat tighten up like he’s about to cry. He really wants to, but he doesn’t want to cry in front of the Black Widow. Speaking of which.

Bucky looks up to find her smiling brightly, her scent reflective of her facial expression. 

He clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m just a fucking sap.” He wipes his eyes and places the drawing next to his monitor. It's truly a beautiful creation, one that Bucky will definitely frame at some point. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry about it. But, look, if you ever need anyone to talk to, you can always talk to me.” She slides him a piece of paper, smiling again. “Here’s my number. I gotta go train, and you get off in 5. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Bucky.” 

He watches her stand up. “Wow. Thank you so much, Nat, really.” 

She stops at the door. “Of course. I’ll tell Steve you almost cried at his gift.” 

He chuckles. “Thank you. Bye, Nat.” 

She closes the door. 

And whaddya know? She was right. It _is_ 15:55. Bucky shuts down his computer and grabs the drawing, places it in a folder and shoves it into his backpack. He sighs. 

He hasn’t seen Steve all day, and he still hasn’t replied to Bucky’s message that was delivered at 11:30. Bucky wants to call him, beg for his time and attention, but he also doesn’t want to be a needy, whiny bitch (even though he is). So he just packs his shit into his backpack and heads for the elevator. 

The walk to his vehicle isn’t so bad this time. He only jumps once when a plastic bag drifts out into his path from underneath a car. 

At home, Bucky makes himself a chicken quesadilla and veggies, checking his phone every two minutes as if that was going to make Steve reply faster. 

The sun has been set for about 20 minutes when Bucky hears someone ring the doorbell. He’d been watching some video game playthrough on youtube and hadn’t heard someone come to the door. The deck leading to the front door is made of old, creaky wood for a reason: he needs to be able to hear someone if they approach. He’s disappointed in himself for letting someone get this close to his house without hearing them, but he’s also a little scared. He didn’t have the best experiences with opening the door to someone unknown on the other side. 

As his hand reaches for the doorknob though, the scent of peppermint and petrichor smack Bucky right in the olfactory glands. He almost breaks the deadbolts trying to get the door open faster. 

“Steve,” Bucky says, throwing himself into the alpha’s arms. _God, he feels so good._

“Hey buckybear. Did ya miss me?” 

Bucky whimpers a bit. “Yes.”

Steve kind of… falters a bit, like he wasn’t expecting Bucky to be so honest. He hugs Bucky back. “Do you wanna go inside?” 

_Oh right._ They’re standing in the doorway. Bucky sheepishly backs off of Steve, but the taller man keeps their hands connected. It’s a small thing that Bucky really appreciates, it makes him feel warm inside. “Are you hungry?” 

Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Bucky’s palm gently. “Honestly, yeah. What did you wanna order?”

Bucky leads Steve into the living room, turning on the tv and passing him the remote. “Do you know what Netflix is?” Steve nods. “Okay, well, you can watch that on my tv. Do you have a show that you wanna watch?” 

He rubs a hand through his beard. “Uh, Nat was telling me about this show? Something about rain and… a school?” 

Bucky thinks. _Rain and a school?_ He offers a confused look to Steve. “It sounded really interesting when she described it to me,” Steve says, eyes distant with thought. 

Bucky really analyzes what Steve said. 

“Do you mean Umbrella Academy?” 

“Yeah! That. That’s what I was thinking of,” he answers, face lighting up. 

Bucky hides a giggle. “Okay, I’ll put that on while I go cook.” 

He presses play on the show and turns to walk away, but Steve grabs his wrist and pulls him in for a quick kiss on the cheek. Bucky blushes, and Steve looks at him with an intensity that he’s never seen before. Bucky is lost in Steve’s eyes, pulled in by the currents of his oceans, when a loud _bang_ from the TV makes him jump. 

“So-sorry. I’ll go start the food,” Bucky murmurs quickly as he quietly pads into the kitchen.

So, what was Bucky going to make? He was no chef, but he could cook _some_ things. He had an air fryer, after all, so he was basically Rachel Ray. He knows he still has about 6 chicken breasts that should be thawed out. He had some spaghetti and some leftover alfredo sauce he’d made from the previous night. And then he had some broccoli that just needed to be cooked.

So it was settled. He grabs a pot and fills it with water, setting it on the stove to boil. He takes a cutting board out of the drawer and places it in his farmhouse style sink, grabs the seasonings he’s going to use for the chicken. Seasoning salt, paprika, onion powder, and garlic powder. It’s very simple, really. 

About 25 minutes later, the food is done. Bucky’s impressed with himself. The chicken breasts are still juicy, tender yet crispy. Shout out to air fryers man. He grabs the biggest plate he owns and piles 4 chicken breasts, at least four servings of spaghetti, and a heap of broccoli onto the dish before getting a fork, a napkin, and a large glass of water. Steve hasn’t so much as gasped the entirety of the time Bucky had been in the kitchen, but he could hear the distinctive voices of Allison and Luther and Vanya on the TV screen in the other room. He figures Steve was entranced by what he was watching. 

And he was right. 

Bucky stands in the archway, barely inside the living room, and sees his alpha watching the show _intensely._ It makes Bucky happy to know that Steve is able to shed his responsibilities as Captain America, even if it is temporary. He deserves a break, that’s for sure. Bucky wonders if he should just put the plate in the oven and let the overworked superstar enjoy his show. He even takes a step backwards before Steve sniffs the air, lets out a surprised noise to see Bucky standing there.

“Oh my goodness Buck, that smells amazing!” He pauses the TV and stands up, smiling as he strides over to his soulmate. “What did you make?” 

Bucky has a hard time replying because Steve is just so damn _beautiful._ He’s this perfect dream of a human being. Steve’s smile had _ruined_ Bucky’s insides, made him feel such a range of emotions that he wasn’t even sure was possible. He didn’t really know what he wanted, he just knew he needed to touch Steve and be _touched by him_. 

He blanches at the thought of the alpha’s gargantuan, soft yet calloused hands running over his body, each point their vessels connected leaving a volcanic eruption on Bucky’s skin.

“Bucky?” 

He snaps out of his fantasy. 

“Sorry,” he holds out the plate and napkin to Steve, “it’s just chicken, spaghetti with alfredo sauce, and broccoli. Nothing special.” 

Steve bends down and gives Bucky another kiss. “It’s special because _you_ made it, babydoll. It looks spectacular. Where do you want me to eat?” 

The smaller of the two heads back toward the couch. “You can eat here! I know you’re really into this show.” 

“Are you sure, baby?” Bucky nods. “Okay,” he replies, sitting down carefully. 

Bucky presses play and watches Steve dig in.

He feels an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness as Steve takes a bite of the chicken and his eyes widen cartoonishly. “Oh my lanta,” he says, chewing still, “this is amazing. How did you cook it?” 

Bucky smiles, sure he’s making the air smell like his happiness. “Air fryer.” 

“A what?!” 

Laughing, Bucky pats Steve’s lap, “don’t worry about it, just enjoy the food. Do you need anything else?” 

“Uh, would you mind if I could have a napkin?” 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Of course! I can’t believe I forgot to get you one.” He quickly stands up, feeling embarrassed. _Geez, I’m a shitty host._ He gets a napkin from the kitchen and hands it to Steve, cheeks red. Before Steve can say anything, Bucky’s turning the show back on, and Steve reluctantly tears away and plasters them to the TV. 

15 minutes later, Steve is done, and something in Bucky says that he’s not full yet, so he takes Steve’s plate and returns with the rest of the food. Steve gives him a shocked, punched-out expression, but takes the plate anyways, filling Bucky’s ear with a litany of ‘thank you’s. Bucky just smiles and sits on his hands. 

Steve finishes at pretty much the same time the first episode is over. Without thinking, Bucky takes his plate into the kitchen and washes it, leaving it in the drying rack next to the sink. He can hear Steve stand up and walk into the kitchen, the heavy footsteps echoing around his home something that Bucky could get used to. 

“My goodness, dollface, that was amazing.” He wraps his arms around Bucky, hugging him from behind. The omega absolutely melts into the touch, the scent of his soulmate and the protection he feels making his head a little airy. He can only whimper a ‘thank you’ sound in return. “Can I use the restroom, honey?” Steve asks, squeezing Bucky a little.

“Um, yeah, it’s down the hall, second door on your left.” 

He relinquishes Bucky from his grip. “Okay. Be right back baby.” 

“Oh, and can I use some of your mouthwash? I love parmesan but it makes my breath bad,” Steve asks, stopping a few steps away from him. 

“Of course,” Bucky answers with a smile. 

Steve goes into the bathroom, and Bucky doesn’t exactly know what to do now. He’d already cleaned up the kitchen. 

He decides to go change into some sleepwear. In his room, he pulls on a pair of gray tights that he _loves_ to sleep in, keeping his footies from earlier on. He can’t figure out what shirt to wear, either, so he looks in his dresser for one. It shouldn’t be hard, the tights he’s wearing are light gray, but he can’t decide which one he wants to wear. Rolling his eyes in frustration, Bucky looks up at the ceiling and sticks his hand into the stack of clothing. Whichever one his hand lands on is the one he’s wearing. 

It’s a black, form-fitting t-shirt. It accentuates the natural arch in his back, and he briefly considers picking a different one, but his indecisive Libra mind is getting annoyed at how long this fucking process is taking. He’s straightening the shirt out, arching his back and smoothing the front side down when he hears a low groan from behind.

Bucky spins around quickly, seeing Steve standing there with a slightly pained expression, eyes looking a little glazed over. “A-are you okay, Stevie?” 

He clears his throat, shifts his eyes up. “Yeah, I… yeah. I just wanted to say thank you again for dinner.” 

Bucky smiles. “It’s no problem, I really enjoyed making it for you and I’m so thrilled you liked it.” 

Steve eyes him up and down quickly. “So, um, what do you wanna do now?” He takes a slow step towards Bucky. “And how can I properly say thank you, honey?” 

It’s by far the most suggestive Steve’s been, and for the first time, Bucky can smell the arousal on Steve. It’s thick. He wonders where it’s coming from, but then he thinks about it. _His omega just made him food and then put on tight clothing. I feel like I’d be horny too._

“Well, um, I mean, I–” Bucky gulps, “if-if you wouldn’t mind, can you, uh…” He scratches his head. “Can you kiss me? Please.” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve says, voice deeper than he’d heard it before. “This would be your first kiss, right?” 

Bucky nods, turning crimson.

“You’re so pretty when you blush, Bucky. Cutest blush I’ve ever seen.” Bucky shudders, Steve’s statement making the bottom layers of his skin itch with what he presumes is desire. He bows his head and grabs at his wrists awkwardly. Then, Steve places a dinner plate sized hand on his lower back and brings him into the hard torso, stopping just shy of rubbing fronts. Another large hand is placed on the back of his neck, thumb tracing circles around the bones in his spine. His touch lights Bucky’s skin on fire, and the omega is suddenly feeling a little lightheaded at the sensation. His eyes droop a little and his shoulders drop, releasing tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. He unlatches his hands from each other, opting to hook his arms around Steve’s upper body, since he couldn’t exactly reach his shoulders. 

Steve shifts his hand from the back of Bucky’s neck to underneath his chin, tilting it up. He stares into Bucky’s eyes intensely for a moment, asking for permission. Bucky takes a step forward, Steve’s crotch rubbing slightly against Bucky’s belly button. And then, Steve leans down, Bucky stands on his tip toes, and they’re kissing. 

It’s a gentle thing, Steve’s tongue brushes past Bucky’s lips slightly but not hungrily, and the hand on the small of Bucky’s back is gripping a little at Bucky’s skin through the tight nylon shirt. It doesn’t last very long, but Bucky’s whimpering into the kiss, clutching at Steve’s back like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. Steve pulls back, face flushed, but still composed. 

Bucky, on the other hand, is wrecked. 

His heart rate and breathing have ratcheted up, and his blush is all-consuming. He also feels like he can’t form any words, his tongue weighed down in his mouth like a block of lead. Leaning his head into Steve’s chest, Bucky whimpers as Steve draws him in closer to him, their bodies finally flushed. “What else do you wanna do now?” Steve asks, Bucky in the process of melting into the ridiculous physique of his partner. 

He drags his eyes open and up Steve’s body, making eye contact with him. Steve’s face is still intense, and Bucky still _hates_ eye contact. He can only make a whimpering sound, reduced to a pile of goo under the watchful eye of Steve Rogers and his protective, powerful aura. 

“I, um,” Bucky starts, going crimson at the thought of his body being flush with Steve’s. 

“You’re so cute when you get embarrassed,” Steve murmurs, planting a soft kiss on Bucky’s nose. “What is it that you want, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask, I’ll give it to you.” 

_Fuck._

Bucky feels like he’s going to explode. 

He looks down. “Can we–” Steve tilts his head up, forcing their eyes to meet. Bucky’s jaw clamps shut almost reflexively, and Steve pouts a little. 

“Babydoll, I hate that you can’t look at me in the eyes and tell me what you want. What’s stopping you?” 

_Oh hell._ “I-it’s,” Bucky sighs. “It’s partially because I’m shy,” he says, still throwing his eyes everywhere but Steve’s face, “but mainly because you… your gaze is so intense and I feel like I’m gonna lose control if I keep looking at you.” 

And then. This guy.

This _motherfucker._

Has the audacity to _smirk._ It makes Bucky angry but not _really._ It just makes him want to sumo slam his hole in his alpha’s face. 

“Aw, honey,” Steve’s voice is patronizing, “we’ll work on getting you to lose control with me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty well equipped to handle almost anything.” 

And the condescending tone mixed with his arrogance is _roundhouse kicking_ Bucky’s insides. At least a quarter of a cup of slick drips down the inside of his thighs in his tights, which Bucky _hates_ because he _loathes_ wearing wet clothes. 

Steve smells it, Bucky knows he does, because his eyes darken and his pupils dilate. He grabs on to Bucky’s waist, bringing him impossibly closer to Steve’s solid body. “Baby, you’re so wound up,” he coos, running his hands up and down Bucky’s back underneath his shirt. “You want me to help you relax?” 

Bucky can’t do anything but nod, feeling overwhelmed but also serene yet also like he’s drowning. He’s surprised he even says anything back. “P-please, I need you.” It’s more of a whisper-whimper than anything. Bucky’s still looking down. “Steve please, please kiss me, I–” 

Steve kisses him with enough force to take Bucky’s breath away. His massive hands are roaming all over Bucky’s body, and poor touch-starved Bucky is struggling to keep up. He’s a mess, moaning into Steve’s mouth like a $10 whore trying to make rent. Steve just eats it up, clutching at Bucky tightly. 

Massive hands run over the curve of Bucky’s ass, stopping at the junction of his glutes and hamstrings, hoisting him up effortlessly. Bucky chokes down a scream. He’s never told anyone, but not only does he have a strength kink, one of his biggest fantasies is to get fucked in the air while he’s being held like this. And judging by Steve’s nonchalance in doing it, Bucky knows it’s possible. More slick pours out of him. 

“Goodness, you’re a sensitive little thing, aren’t you darlin’,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s mouth, backing them up onto the bed. “You’re so good for me, so sensitive to me and only me, aren’t you? My best girl. Gettin’ so wet for me.” 

_Fuck!!!!_

Bucky has a whole body shiver and gives his alpha’s shoulders, which he’d wrapped his arms around now, a squeeze. Even _more_ slick is being produced now. 

“Aw,” Steve says into Buck’s _extra sensitive neck_ this time, voice still patronizing and ever so arousing to him, “it seems you have a praise kink, huh sweetheart?” 

Bucky has no idea what that is but he _trusts_ Steve with everything he has, so he nods. 

“I can’t believe it, you just get more and more perfect, don’t you doll?” 

Bucky is getting dangerously close to getting his nut, and Steve hasn’t even ground against him yet. 

Steve lays Bucky down ever so casually and extremely gently. His orgasm is building, still. He then latches his lips onto his omega’s scent glands, and _sucks,_ hard, leaving a definite hickey. And Bucky likes that, likes knowing that everyone will know who he belongs to. 

“Stevie, I’m–” 

“–Shh, baby, I’m right here,” Steve says, _finally_ grinding his hips down into Bucky’s. Steve’s dick is hard enough to cut glass, and Bucky’s isn’t too far behind. It’s all getting to be too much for Bucky too fast, knows he’s not gonna be able to last very much longer. 

“ _Steve–_ ” 

His arms tighten around Bucky, crushing him a little like he fucking _loves_. 

“ _Steve_ –” 

He fucks his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, owning it, dominating him. 

“ ** _Steve–_ **” 

The alpha groans, continuing to grind into him.

“ ** _Steve–_ **” 

“Fuck, _sweetheart_ , you moan so pretty for me, _fuck_ you’re so perfect.” 

It’s curtains for Bucky. 

“ ** _Daddy,_** _Daddy, FUCK!_ ” 

And he’s nutting, the most intense orgasm he’s ever had. White walls smash into him from every direction and he’s powerless to do anything but succumb to it. He blacks out. 

When the world is a thing again, Steve’s sitting back, Bucky’s thighs still wrapped around his slim waist, his face looking more flushed than when he’d been grinding into Bucky. 20 seconds ago.

Or has it been 20 seconds? 

An hour? 

Fuck if Bucky knows. 

His tights are hopefully still wearable, but there’s a massive wet patch in the front. Bucky is sure that there’s just as much damage done in the back. 

Steve looks more than a bit flustered, kind of awkward, truthfully. Bucky can see that his dick is still _painfully_ hard in his pants, and can still smell his arousal. But he’s sitting there on his haunches, staring at the bedframe behind Bucky, _stuck >_

Bucky immediately feels bad. Did he take it too far with the daddy thing? He didn’t even know where it came from, it just slipped out.

And then it smacks Bucky in the face. 

_No, you fucking mong, it’s because you nutted in 2 minutes with minimal grinding. That’s why._

Bucky scoots back from Steve, chest stinging when the alpha lets him move away. “Steve, I,” the omega begins, voice small and helpless, “I’m sorry, I did–” 

A loud alarm goes off downstairs, one that Bucky knows from watching countless youtube videos is the emergency Avengers Assembly Alarm. Steve gives Bucky an awkward pat on his leg, and then bolts downstairs to his phone. 

Bucky can’t believe what the fuck just happened. 

He scrambles off the bed, trips twice trying to take these godforsaken soaked tights off, throws on some gym shorts and runs downstairs, where Steve is still talking on the phone, edging towards the door. 

As Bucky approaches, he can hear Tony and Fury’s voices, sounding slightly panicked. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, but I have to go on this mission.” Bucky feels his heart crack at the lack of a pet name. “I should be back in about 4 days.” 

Steve sounds… harsh. Or it feels like it. It’s like he’s holding back from saying something. And if his behavior post Bucky’s earth-shattering orgasm is any indication of what he wants to say, he’s sure it can’t be positive. So, Bucky just nods his head quietly, averts his eye contact, and tries to will away the tears that are threatening to spill over.

He works on making sure his scent stays neutral and tucks the familiar build of pressure in his throat back down. Although he wants to sob, wants to throw himself into Steve’s arms and beg for forgiveness, for his attention, for _him,_ he can’t. Steve’s typical cloying behavior has been replaced with an inscrutable facial expression. 

“O–” and Bucky clears his throat so that Steve can’t hear the sob that’s _biting_ his tongue, “okay. Please be careful and come back safe.” 

“I’m always careful. I’ll be back in a few days, Bucky, I promise.” 

Yeah, no pet name.

_Ouch._

Well, Bucky needs Steve to leave so he can lie on his bed and weep. 

“Okay. tell Nat and everyone I said hi.” 

There’s a knock at the door, and it makes Bucky jump. Since it’s within Steve’s reach, he opens it. 

It’s Tony. 

“Hey, Capsicle, yeah, buddy, it’s time to go.” He looks at Bucky, who’s standing awkwardly behind Steve. “Hey Bucky!” 

_At least he has a genuine smile._

Bucky waves back, stepping forward and shoving Steve out of his home with his body language. He’s trying incredibly hard not to cry, and when his eyes meet Steve’s, he can tell that Steve knows how he’s feeling. 

So why won’t he say anything? 

It would all be so simple: Steve’s reassurance and words are the best panacea for this situation. But he still looks constipated.

Without another word, Steve follows Tony out onto Bucky’s patio. 

The tears that have been _begging_ to drop from Bucky’s eyes finally do so. 

As Steve descends the stairs off the front porch, Bucky remembers something. 

“And Steve,” Bucky calls out, waiting for him to turn around. Their eyes meet. “Thank you for the drawing.” 

Steve looks like he just got stabbed in the chest, and Bucky releases a quiet sob. 

It’s dramatic, but fuck, Steve, _you know how I’m feeling and you won’t address it,_ so fuck off. 

He closes the door with Steve still staring at him, pain etched into his perfect fucking face. 

True to his word, Bucky goes upstairs to his room and peels off his sheets before landing on the mattress face first, weeping. 

.

.

.

Bucky had texted Steve twice and hadn’t gotten an answer. That was Wednesday, the day after he left. Now it’s Friday. Steve was supposed to come back tomorrow, and Bucky didn’t know where he stood with him. He didn’t want to be annoying and beg for his attention, because he knew that Steve was definitely busy, but like, come on. Even though Bucky was incredibly hurt by Steve’s inaction, he was ready to forgive him. He just wanted Steve back. 

Oh well. 

Bucky may be a mopey bitch, but he knows well enough that he can’t do anything while Steve’s gone. Almost immediately after Tony and Steve left on Tuesday, he’d gotten a message from Stark Towers. 

He didn’t have to go in until the team was back. _Lit._

It was nice… for the first day. He spent the entirety of Thursday worrying about Steve and the status of their relationship. It irked the shit out of Bucky, so he decided he’d go into work anyways so he wouldn’t be stuck at home daydreaming about the absolute hunk of a man that is Steven Grant Rogers. 

Which is how Bucky is now sitting in his office, the only one on his floor, staring blankly at his computer screen. He’s barely done any work at _all_ whatsoever, but it most certainly beat sitting around his house and wishing his man would come back home to him. 

He made a few measly steps in his progress, mainly by way of completing the coding for stepwise selection and choosing the best model fit. He still had to determine if any of the predictors were mediating or moderating each other _and_ code for interactions–work for a different day, he decided. Standing up, he looks down at his desk and sees the drawing that Steve had made for him. Ever the man of his word, he’d bought a frame for it and set it on his desk. 

It is truly one of his most valued possessions, not just because it’s nice, but because Steve gave it to him. 

Sadness bubbles up in him and grabs him by the neck. It takes a lot to keep himself from crying right there in his office. Trying to compose himself before he leaves his office, he packs his things in a dilatory fashion, taking his time to log out of his computer. A knock on the door startles him. 

He has no idea who the fuck it could be. 

Probably a janitor to tell Bucky he needs to leave so he can clean his office. _Shit._

He wipes his running nose with a tissue kept on his desk and discards it, then rubs the corners of his eyes with his shoulders. 

Without asking for permission, the person enters. 

It’s Nat. 

“Bucky?” She asks, voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, um, hi Nat,” Bucky clears his throat, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t getting ready to _sob_ , “I thought you were with the team?” 

She shakes her head, and takes a seat in front of Bucky after closing the door. “Not everyone went. What’s up with you? Jarvis told me you were in today, and when you didn’t leave before sunset I figured I’d come check up on you.” 

“Oh,” Bucky chirps, “I thought everyone went.” 

“No, just Cap, Tony, Viz, and Wanda.” 

“Is everyone okay?” 

Nat blinks. “They’re fine, Bucky–what did Steve do?” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow in reply. On the one hand, it probably doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Steve is the reason behind Bucky’s moping. On the other, how did she know that _he_ did something to Bucky?

“Oh, it’s uh. Personal? Personal stuff, I suppose.” 

She leans in, places her forearms on Bucky’s desk. “I don’t wanna pressure you into telling me or anything, but, you know you can tell me anything, right?” She huffs. “And besides, I can probably tell you how to handle this situation with him.” 

Bucky is quiet for, like, half a second, because he knows she’s right. She’s known Steve for a lot longer than Bucky has, has become inured to Steve’s personality and quirks. “Uh, well, um, to save myself the embarrassment, I’ll just make it quick.” She nods, and Bucky closes his eyes. “He kissed me, barely even rutted against me… and then I called him Daddy and nutted in less than 3 minutes.” 

Natasha is silent, so Bucky opens his eyes. She’s staring back at him, eyes kind, but face stolid. 

“I mean, I’ve never had my first kiss and I’m technically a virgin, so sue me! I’ve never had anyone take a genuine interest in me before, and then, Steve’s just so… Steve. And I lost myself… in him.” Bucky grimaces. “Wow, I am _pathetic._ ” 

Nat laughs, and Bucky doesn't know what to make of that. 

“Steve is so head over heels for you, it’s not even funny.” 

Bucky gapes.

“I mean,” she continues, “you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen; you’re his _soulmate._ All Steve has ever wanted to do is to take care of his partner, and here you come, being this ball of adorableness and unbridled passion that has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but you just want to be the best you can be for him.” 

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. 

“Bucky, look, I can promise you that this isn’t as big of a deal that you’re making it out to be. For one, Steve wants nothing more than for you to call him Daddy. I’m sure he would’ve asked you about it sooner or later.” She clears her throat. “Two: you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Steve. Since I’ve known him, I haven’t seen him smile this hard and be this happy.” 

“Well, then why did he not–” 

“What did he say after you called him Daddy?” 

_Ooooh, it sounds so weird hearing it from someone else._

“Well, nothing. He got called into action. But I know that he knew I was torn up about him being so… unbothered. I mean, I was choking down tears.” 

Nat chuckles. “I said Steve was in love with you, I didn’t say he was smart.” Bucky laughs at that. “He probably has a trillion things he wants to say to you, he just didn’t know how to. And then he had to go.” 

“Yeah but–”

“Bucky, come on. Steve’s not perfect. Did he act like a fucking idiot? Yes. Am I going to curse him out and kick his ass as soon as he lands for making you cry in your office like some shitty romcom? Oh, you best believe it. Do you have the right to be mad? Yeah, absolutely. I’d be surprised if you weren’t. The point is though, that you have nothing to worry about. You guys are fine, Steve’s just… Sexually constipated.” 

Bucky gives her a weird look. 

“You’ll find out. But um, look. I’m gonna give you something to do–wear–for when Steve gets back. I’ll have someone drop it by your place tonight.” 

“What?” 

She shakes her head. “No, no questions, just do it. If you wanna see Steve lose his composure and go crazy, just do it.” 

“Alright.” She nods her head, finally. “Anything else?” 

“I need to get home. Kinda scared of walking through the parking lot alone at night.” 

She smiles. “Then let’s go.” 

The walk to the garage and Bucky’s car goes quick enough. Bucky’s happy to have finally found another friend… who just so happens to be the Black Widow. It’s amazing, really. He can’t believe it. 

After stopping to get Chipotle (because Bucky was _not_ trying to cook tonight), he made his way back home, singing along to the music in his favorite playlist. Pulling up to his house, he takes the keys out of the ignition, grabbing his food from the passenger seat and stepping out of the car. A familiar but unwelcome scent hits his nose.

He drops his bag of food on the ground. 

He’s a lot… bigger than Bucky remembers him to be. 

If he didn’t know any better, Bucky would think that this guy, too, was injected with the same serum that Steve was. He’d grown some more, looking like he was at least 6’4, and was sporting some crazy musculature. Seriously, it looked like he might be able to take on Steve in a fight and actually hold his own. 

It’s frightening, because standing on his porch, waiting for him, is none other than Brock Rumlow.

Or, his ex-best friend that raped him. Pretty violently. 

Bucky hasn’t seen him since they graduated high school, and he was hoping that it would stay that way. 

It wasn’t in the cards, apparently. 

Turning quickly, Bucky tries to get back in his car, but Brock covers something like 40 feet in about 2 seconds and closes Bucky’s door, staring down at him with a hungry look in his eyes. 

“What’s the rush, pumpkin? Y’don’t look too happy to see me,” Brock says lowly, his arousal nearly choking Bucky. 

“Brock, please, back up.” 

He smiles. Bucky wants to puke. “Now now, honey, you don’t want to talk to me?” 

Bucky _hates_ that Brock just called him that. Pet names are reserved for Steve and Steve only.

“Brock, please, don’t call me that. I found my soulmate, I’m not interested in whatever it is that you want.” 

A deep chuckle leaves his bearded face. “I always get what I want, honey. And if it isn’t given to me, I just take it.” 

Bucky tries to keep composed. He doesn’t want Brock to think that he has Bucky on the ropes, because if there’s one thing Bucky remembers about Brock, it’s that he was manipulative as all hell. 

“So what exactly do you want then? And why now?” 

And then Brock grins like an actual movie villain. “I want you. And I saw you earlier at the Chipotle, I knew I just had to have that ass again. I beat you back to your place. ”

Bucky backs away. “Oh, yeah, because that’s not creepy at all whatsoever.” He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m already with someone else.” 

He laughs. “Oh yeah, Bucky? You think they can handle me?” 

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to chortle. “Yeah. My soulmate is Captain America, dude.” 

Brock’s face drops a miniscule amount for only the briefest of moments, before he smiles wolfishly yet again at Bucky. “So then you should know he’s in Bulgaria right now doing spy work. He won’t be back until tomorrow.” He takes a predatory step towards Bucky. “Which gives me plenty of time to take what I need… what I _deserve._ ” 

_Oh, okay, so, this is bad._

He has no idea what he should do or where he should go.

He has neighbors. He could start screaming. That might help? 

But Bucky gets the feeling that Brock would knock him unconscious before he gets the chance to open his mouth good. 

He needs to call Nat and ask her to come, but he doesn’t know how 1) to get a chance to pull out his phone to call her and 2) what he will do in the time it takes for her to get here. 

Bucky does have his taser in his backpack though. If he could get a chance to get it, he might have a chance to get away.

But he’s gonna have to stall in the meantime. 

_Time to be resourceful, James._

“So what exactly is it that you want, Brock?” the small one asks, trying to sound sexy and sultry.

“I wanna see how you’d look on my knot, sweet omega. Now that you’ve got those beautiful thighs.” 

Bucky is nauseous. 

_Fuck._ He’s not proud of what he does next. 

“Well…” he looks down and away, showing his neck in a sign of submission. Brock growls. “Would you be rough this time? I don’t want it rough…” 

Brock closes the distance, cups Bucky’s hand in his face. He’s absolutely _revolted,_ and he hopes that Brock can’t smell it. “I can be gentle for you, my sweet omega.” 

Bucky really has to play this up if his plan is going to work. 

“A-are you strong, Brock? I need to feel safe… and protected.” 

Brock growls again in his throat, closing his arms around Bucky’s lower back. The omega has to swallow the bile that rises up his throat. 

“Oh, Bucky, I’m strong. I can protect you from whoever or whatever you want me to.” 

Bucky hugs Brock. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he also doesn’t want to be assaulted again, so he deals with it. His plan is working, so far. “Alright, well as long as you’re gentle, I guess Steve won’t have to know.” He takes a step toward the house. “Come on.” 

Brock follows behind Bucky as he heads to the door. Bucky spins his backpack around to get the keys, obscuring the pouch from Brock’s point of view. “Did you know my neighbor literally always watches me?” Bucky lies, “she’s always staring at me from one of her windows.” 

He can hear Brock shifting his weight and moving around, looking at his next door neighbor's house. 

Now’s his chance.

He takes out his taser and stabs it in Brock’s chest, catching him completely off guard. He falls to the ground violently, a shaky, seizure-y mess. Once he lands on the ground, Bucky kicks him once in the head and twice in the side. Brock immediately starts to get up, but Bucky, ever the fan of horror movies, knows better. He needs to do more than hit him once and try to run away. He needs to immobilize him for at least a moment and _then_ try to get away.

So. 

He tases the alpha in the nuts.

Twice. He gets a really, _really_ good stomp on Brock’s head before sprinting down the stairs and to his car. His ignition is on by the time he sees Brock stand up. He’s hitting a u-turn as fast as he possibly can, doors locking as he speeds through the maneuver. Brock gets a hand on Bucky’s driver’s side window, hitting it hard. The glass _cracks,_ which, holy shit. How strong do you have to be to do that? 

Soon he’s flying down the street, plowing through the stop sign at the end of his block. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and calls Nat. 

She picks up on the first ring. 

“Hello?” 

“Nat! Hey! Um, so, long story short, I’m driving back to the tower, can I see you?” 

“a _What_? Bucky what’s wrong? You sound… scared.” 

He gives a nervous chuckle. “I am. My rapist just showed up at my house, I had to taze him and kick him to get away.” 

She’s quiet for a small moment. “Bucky, holy shit. Alright, I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” 

Bucky exhales, tries to relax. He checks his rearview mirror. Nobody’s following him, from what he can tell. 

“Thank you, Nat. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” 

“Don’t worry about it Bucky. This is what friends are for.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to comment and let me know how you guys are liking it so far! I hope everyone's staying safe. 
> 
> Let me know if you think I need to add more tags or TWs!


	3. don't want it if it ain't your touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re two movies into their cinematic marathon, watching Transformers 2, when Nat finally speaks. “It’s crazy how unsexy her underwear is,” she complains, referring to the beautiful girl that turned into a robot in Sam’s room while literally straddling his waist. “They’re like, granny panties.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the late update on this guys! school started and the class that I'm TAing for ended up being a shitshow because somehow college students cannot follow directions. Aiyah. AAAAAAND, I spent so much time pouring over this chapter because I hated the smut I put in it. I couldn't figure out how to handle Bucky's... affliction (i think that word works). 
> 
> Oh and um. Smut. Yay!

_Deep breaths, deep breaths._ Everything is going to be okay. Right?

Right. 

Because Stark tower is coming into view as Bucky hurtles down Lake Ave, barrelling over the 210 freeway bridge. Natasha is _waiting_ for him at the entrance to the parking lot, arms crossed and looking like she’s ready to kill someone. 

Bucky unlocks the door as he waits for the gate to rise, feeling a little weird as Nat gets in his car. 

She notices the cracked glass on the driver’s side window and gasps, horrified. “Bucky, what the fuck happened?!” 

“Well, um, I got home, and this guy, who _used_ to be my best friend, was waiting for me on my porch.” 

Nat’s eyebrows shoot to the moon. “Used to be your best friend? How did he go from best friend to rapist?!” 

He grins shyly, unsure of what to do with his face as he ascends the structure, getting to his spot on the 9th floor. “We stopped being friends because he raped me. During my heat. It wasn’t exactly the ideal experience for my first time, I’ll just say that.” 

“It was your _first time?_ ” Nat’s angry scent clogs the car quickly. “He… did that to you on your _first heat?_ ” 

Bucky nods. 

“How fucking _awful._ How did you deal with the connection you felt after?” Even though she said it out loud, Bucky knows it’s more of a question for herself than for him. Still, it makes Bucky’s throat tighten. 

It was incredibly hard, and it’s one of the things that Bucky has spoken about to least to anyone. The only person that really knows is the stuffed Domo doll he’s had since he was 7. 

Bucky hated the aftermath of the… event. One of the things he would’ve never seen coming was the deep, all-consuming desire to be around Brock, even after he’d done all that he had to Bucky. He wanted his attention, his affection, his time; he wanted to _be_ with Brock. He could never let that on, though. Bucky knew that it was a common side effect of the first heat that affected omegas more than any other designation. It was worsened by Bucky’s overly affectionate and needy nature. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d nutted or shoved a finger or three inside of himself while in shower to the thought of Brock. He might not have been as muscular back then as he is now, but Bucky, at the time, loved him. He was the person he loved most, aside from his blood relatives. 

But that was a long time ago–a lifetime ago. 

As he puts his car in park, Nat places a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky… I’m really sorry that all of this has happened to you.” 

He unbuckles his seat belt. “It’s okay Nat, really.” 

She smiles softly, opening the car door. “It really isn’t, Bucky.” She gets out of the car. “And you thinking that it’s ‘okay’ is an issue in and of itself.” 

He sighs and closes the driver’s side door, locking it as they walk to the elevator. “Well Nat, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do,” Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, what am I supposed to do about it now? I’m already in therapy, I’m studying to _be_ a therapist, for crying out loud.” 

“I’m not saying you’re supposed to be doing anything, love, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t… minimize your problems.” 

_Oof._

Nat can tell she hit a nerve with that comment. “I just don’t want you to think that your struggles are any less valid or important as other people’s,” she continued, “especially just because you’re an omega. Or because you’re best friends with the Avengers.” 

It’s a quiet ride down as Bucky tries to find words to explain how he feels. It’s a comfortable silence, one that Bucky is thankful for. 

“I guess… I suppose it’s a product of everyone else making me feel like my problems weren’t important.” They step off the elevator and out onto the street, coming towards the back entrance of the tower. “After a certain point I guess I started believing them. Now whenever I go through things I feel like I deserve it.

“I dunno. It feels like the universe has had it out for me my whole life, seemingly.”

Bucky can smell the sadness that comes off of Nat in waves. “Holy shit, Bucky.” They step into the crosswalk, the sun setting behind the buildings in front of them, drenching them in a beautiful red-orange. “That’s a horrible way to live your life.” 

Bucky laughs incredulously. “It’s bad enough I was born as a male omega. I’m pretty sure my mom tells me that my dad was a drunkard to make me feel better about the real reason why he left.” He inhales softly, the next sentence barely above a whisper. “I don’t think he could handle having an omega son.” 

Nat stops in the middle of the street, gaping at him. 

“Nat!” Bucky exclaims, grabbing at her arm and pulling her towards the other side of the street. She won’t budge. “Come _on!_ ” 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, but what the _fuck_ is your life?” 

He chuckles pitifully. “It’s not so bad. I found you! And my soulmate.” 

She gives him a wry smile as she opens the door to the Avengers entrance, as designated by a small sign. “Yeah but… what a lot to overcome to get where you are now.” 

“I suppose I could say the same thing about you.” 

She smirks. “No, I’ve made peace with my past. I went back and confronted it. You haven’t confronted yours yet.” 

“What do you even mean by that?” 

She punches a button on the elevator. “I’m saying, you should fight your ‘ex-best friend’. I’m saying you should kick your rapist’s ass.” 

“I’m not sure I can do that. The guy’s huge now.” 

“Well when Steve gets back from Bulgaria, you can rest assured he’s going to kick his ass.” 

“Well that’s one, at least. I don’t even know what the other one looks like,” Bucky says under his breath to himself. 

Nat freezes. 

“ _More than one?_ ” 

Bucky nods sadly. 

Nat hugs him. “Let’s eat ice cream and watch really shitty action movies. You can’t think about… all of this, anymore.” 

They step off yet another elevator together. “Sounds like a plan to me.” 

“What’s your favorite flavor?” 

“Vanilla.” 

She deadpans. “You’re so boring.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I like mint chocolate chip too.” 

She throws her hands back in mock surprise. “Watch out everyone, this one’s _craaazy_.” 

Bucky giggles. “Shut up.”

  
  
  
  
  


They’re two movies into their cinematic marathon, watching Transformers 2, when Nat finally speaks. “It’s crazy how unsexy her underwear is,” she complains, referring to the beautiful girl that turned into a robot in Sam’s room while _literally_ straddling his waist. “They’re like, granny panties.” 

“ _What_?!” Bucky asks through laughter. 

“Seriously,” she scoffs, “my lingerie collection is so much better than hers.” 

“I would expect _nothing_ less,” he answers, still laughing a bit. 

She doesn’t reply, and when he looks at her, he can tell she’s mulling something over. 

“Bucky,” she starts, “do you have any lingerie?” 

“... who do you think I am?” She looks just as serious as she did before. “No, no I don’t.” 

  
  


“So I was right.” Bucky makes a confused noise, but she’s pausing the music and standing up, grabbing Bucky’s wrist. “I knew you didn’t have any. Come on,” she says, dragging him down the hallway. 

“A-are you giving me lingerie?” 

“Duh,” she replies, as though it’s blatantly obvious. 

“I-I can’t wear these. Who would I wear them for?” 

She stops in front of her closet door, turning slowly to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Oh, you haven’t met Steve yet.” 

“What?” 

She smiles. “Steve _loves_ , and I mean _loves_ lingerie.” 

Bucky flushes. “Oh.” _Wait a minute._ “How do you know?” 

“Because he isn’t a virgin, Bucky.” His wide eyes meet hers. “NO, we did _not_ fuck, but he has told me about his experiences.” 

“I was about to say, girl, if you fucked him…” 

“Bucky, I’d rather mop the ocean.” 

“You are _so_ stupid.” 

“Anyways,” she says, dragging him further into the closet, “I was gonna send a piece or two over to your place for you to wear when Steve came back. Obviously that didn’t work out, so, I’m going to give you some now.” 

“For _what?_ ” 

“I just told you,” she answers evenly, not even glancing in his direction, focused on the many pairs of lingerie she has. 

“I… I don’t know that I can do this.” 

Bucky can _feel_ her roll her eyes. “Put a pair on and see how sexy you feel. Watch.” 

“How would it make me feel sexy?” 

“Bucky!” she urges, exasperation present in her voice, “just trust me. If the panties don’t make you feel sexy, Steve definitely will.” 

Now Bucky _really_ blushes. “You think so?” 

She still doesn’t look up. “Honey, I _know._ ” She hands him a white thong with a lace-y front. As soon as he sees it, he wonders where his dick will go, but that’s an issue for a different time.

“Go try these on in Steve’s bathroom.” 

“Why can’t I just use the one in here?” 

She finally looks him in the face. “Because I’m lactose intolerant and I just had a pint of ice cream. _Go_.” 

“Ew.” 

“Shut up and go be sexy. Leave your underwear here. I’ll text you when it’s safe to return.” 

“Nat, I swear to the heavens if you don’t shut the fu–” 

“Steve’s apartment password is 0407.”

Bucky gives her a blank stare.

She deadpans again. “The pin. For the door. To get inside his place?” 

“Y’all ain’t got keys?” 

“Bucky,” she begins, placing her index finger and thumb on the bridge of her nose, “I’m going to drop kick you in your solar plexus if you don’t fucking go.” 

_Wait_. 

_Is Steve’s passcode really?_

“Bitch, is his passcode really _the fourth of July?_ ” 

She grins, shoving him towards the door. “Remember I said he was in love with you, I didn’t say he was smart.” 

And then, Bucky is in the long, empty hallway, suddenly realizing that he has no idea where the fuck Steven’s room is. 

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Barnes?” 

Bucky jumps, because that voice came from _nowhere_ and _everywhere_ at once. It takes him a moment to recognize it. 

“Jarvis?” 

“That’s correct. I assume you are looking for Captain Rogers’ room, then?” 

“...yeah.” 

“Sure,” the AI chirps, providing Bucky with a sense of calm. “If you go back to the hallway and press number 61, you’ll get off on his floor.” 

So that’s what Bucky does. 

As he enters Steve’s room, he can’t help but feel like he’s violating his partner in one of the most major ways imaginable. To show someone your home is a huge leap of faith, a massive display of trust, and Bucky wants Steve to _willingly_ show him his humble abode, not break into it. 

Bucky decides that he’s going to quickly relieve himself, wash his hands, put on the panties, and head back down to Nat’s floor. He doesn’t care if he has to wait in the hallway on the floor; he’s got his phone and it’s almost fully charged.

He uses his phone flashlight to guide himself into what he correctly guesses is the bathroom. Once he finishes washing his hands after using the commode, he lotions his hands (Bucky can _never_ be ashy) and slides off his form fitting joggers. He gently lays the small cut of fabric on the counter, it looking too delicate for the marble surface it’s resting upon.

“Here goes nothing,” he says to himself. 

He slides the garment on, and _oh_.

Bucky hates the way he looks.

He doesn’t have hips, so the garment lays on his petite waist weirdly. His legs look like they’re too big, and he just feels… awkward. He feels like he looks stupid. It’s a simple design, really–white satin behind, lacy front, maroon bows on the front and on his hip bones. The only good thing about the damn thing is that the lace in the front is tight to his skin. Since his dick is so tiny (being a male omega really _is_ annoying sometimes), it barely makes a bump in the fabric. 

And Bucky _loves_ that.

It makes him feel like… 

He tries to place what he’s feeling. 

He feels like he can really be Steve’s best girl. 

And that’s all he really wants, honestly. He wants to be whatever Steve wants him to be–he wants to be _good_ for Steve. And if wearing lingerie will make him good for Steve, then Bucky surmises he’s gonna have to get on Amazon Prime and order some fucking panties. 

He continues to inspect himself in the mirror. He turns around, arches his back and leans forward, studying his reflection. The thin strip of material is wide enough to _just_ cover his hole, and as he returns to his normal posture, he’s delighted to see that the size of his ass cheeks absolutely _swallows_ the material. He’s so thick he can’t even see the thin line anymore. _That’s another good thing,_ he thinks _._

But it isn’t enough. 

He still feels like a fucking idiot. He tries to rationalize with himself; maybe it’s just this particular pair of panties that fit him wrong. He might be able to find some that he may actually think he looks good in. _Yeah, that’s a possibility, right?_

  
  


Jarvis scares the shit out of him. “I do not wish to alarm you, Mr. Barnes, but Captain Rogers is on his way up to his apartment right now.” 

_Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck._

Bucky has no idea what the fuck he’s about to do. He becomes annoyed that Nat had told him to leave his underwear back at her place, because now he has no choice but to leave them on. He could freeball, but Bucky absolutely _loathes_ doing that, and the outline of even _his_ tiny dick would be visible with the tight joggers he has on. 

What will he say to Steve though? 

He settles on telling Steve a lie of omission. _“Yeah, Nat told me to use your bathroom because she was having… lactose intolerance issues.”_

Yeah. 

That’ll have to work. It explains why he was in Steve’s apartment.

But that didn’t explain _why_ he was here in the first place though. 

An intrusive thought crosses Bucky’s mind. 

_What if Steve already knows what happened to him today?_

It isn’t out of the realm of possibility, not at all. 

Regardless, it’s going to happen eventually, and Bucky really can’t find it in him to outright lie to Steve about anything. It’s not like he could do it anyways. All the alpha has to do is look at him and the younger man is practically putty at his feet. 

Speaking of which!! 

Bucky was still mad at him for that shit he pulled on Tuesday. 

Even after Nat told him what was happening, he still felt angry about the way Steve handled the situation. He had every opportunity to rectify the issue, at least kiss him, tell him that it was okay. 

Shit, he didn’t even reply to Bucky’s message. He could’ve _died_ without saying anything back to Bucky. The last memory the omega would have of Steve is being mad at him. 

Bucky’s seething right now. He can smell it all around him. He absentmindedly grabs the febreeze on the bathroom counter and sprays into the confined room, turning off the light and placing the aerosol back where he found it. He turns on the lights in the living room as he hears the elevator doors open. Steve’s heavy footsteps falter for a bit, then speed up. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck the hero is doing, but what he _does_ know is that he’s still mad. He’s standing 10 feet in front of the door, quelling his excitement to see his soulmate. 

He can hear Steve frantically trying to input the pin for his apartment, messing up two or three times. He even hears the garbled “fudge” that the alpha growls out in frustration. 

It absolutely did not arouse him in any way. 

No, it did not. 

Steve throws the door open, sees Bucky standing there, his arms crossed. The taller man hurries over to him, relief spreading across his face. “ _Bucky,_ ” Steve whispers. 

He wraps his arms around the omega, _his_ omega, and sighs. Bucky can feel the tension irradiating away. “Buck, honey, I missed you so much.” He pulls back, tilts Bucky’s chin up and kisses him. It’s not voracious, but it isn’t exactly chaste either. Bucky’s anger goes out the window as the alpha’s lips meet his.

His lips are always so fucking soft, it’s _insane_ , and he can’t stop himself from sliding his arms around Steve’s neck and whimpering. 

Bucky’s speaking as soon as his lips leave his soulmate's. “What the hell man?” 

Steve makes a pained expression, and Bucky knows he’s smelled Bucky’s anger by now.

“What, Buck?” 

Bucky deadpans. “Steve, you know what I’m talking about. How could you just leave me on Tuesday like that?” The alpha glances away, face heating up. “And then you didn’t reply to either of the messages I sent you,” Bucky adds quietly. It sounds like he’s holding back tears, and that’s because he is. He hates how sensitive he is, he really, honestly, truly does. It’s just like, every emotion with Steve is heightened to an unbelievable level. He was so mad a few seconds ago, livid, even, and now he’s close to crying because he remembers how shitty Steve had made him feel that night he left. 

“Honey, I’m sorry. My phone got broken in an escape before I had the chance to message you back.” 

Bucky smushes his face into Steve’s neck, inhaling his earthy scent from the source. “That still doesn’t explain why you just left me hanging on Tuesday. I cried for three whole days, you know.” 

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I…” He takes one hand off of Bucky’s waist and rubs the back of his neck, the scent of embarrassment rolling off of him. “You called me Daddy and I just–I froze, I didn’t think you’d be into that, I was so surprised…” 

Bucky narrows his eyes. “And so, you just let me cry?” 

Once again, Steve looks like he’s been stabbed. He brings the hand away from his neck to cup Bucky’s face. “Sweetheart, everything I did after that was wrong. I don’t know what got into me, I’ve never been so… _nervous_ before in my life.” 

Bucky stills. He was never one that could hold onto anger, and with Steve, it's no different. He puts the conflict behind him with a simple question. “So… did you like it?” Steve makes a weird noise. “If you didn’t that’s fine, I just–I just wanna know so I can do better for next time–”

“I _loved_ it, Buck.” Steve sounds so sure, like he was waiting for this moment. _Nat was right_. “You were on the bed, so… so _needy,_ so _desperate_ for me, begging me for more.” He sighs, then continues. “God, you’re so sexy, baby.” 

Bucky shivers at that, the praise going directly to the pit of his stomach. He feels a little warmth start there. 

“I–I was just, um, just wondering.” 

“‘Course. We’ll talk more about that later.” He pats Bucky on the waist and moves around him, dragging him towards his bedroom. “Nat said you wanted to tell me something, though. Was that all?” 

_Oh shit_. 

Steve pushes the door open to his bedroom, still locking hands with Bucky. He puts him on the bed, passing him the TV remote, before gathering a change of clothes from his dresser. Bucky can see that it’s a slim, gray t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that will probably sit a little high on the hero’s thigh. 

“Um, yeah, but I…” Bucky trails off. Steve looks up like a confused dog, holding his clothes in one hand. _He looks adorable._ “Can we just, um, cuddle? For a while? I really…” Bucky rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I just need to feel safe for a while.” 

The alpha offers him a concerned look, one that Bucky answers with a soft smile. “‘Course, beautiful. Whatever you need, you deserve it. I’ll be right back, okay?” He cups Bucky’s cheek and gives a chaste peck on his lips. It lights the smaller of the two on fire, but he remains seated. 

He knows this is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. 

Steve disappears into the bathroom, doesn’t close the door. Taking the remote in his hand, Bucky speaks. “Can I get under the covers? I’m a little cold.” 

“Of course you can, sweetness.” 

Steve is so nice. 

He turns the tv on as he peels back the dark blue comforter and top sheet, watching the astonishingly large display come to life. It’s a smart tv, that’s for sure, and there are a bunch of streaming services and apps that Bucky’s fairly certain Steve doesn’t know exist. Like, do you think Steve knows what Google Photos is? No. he’s too troglodytic for that. Bucky’s about to click on HBO Max when he feels a dip of the mattress next to him. _Steve._

Steve’s leaning back against the soft fabric of the headboard, his t-shirt _painted_ on, framing his massive shoulders exquisitely. His pecs are _stretching_ the fabric of the shirt out with their sheer size. It’s quite the picture. Bucky’s quivering hole can attest to it. 

He flushes as he makes eye contact with Steve, and then fights back a gasp when he smiles at the omega. Steve is _breathtakingly_ beautiful, my goodness. It’s still a new thing, but Bucky had spent so much time just sitting and fawning over the idea that Steve Rogers, arguably one of the most perfect human beings ever, is _his_. _His soulmate._ It’s a crazy thing to process, and Bucky thanks the universe every time he lays eyes on the man for giving him this _one victory_ in the vast ocean of failure and struggle that has been Bucky’s life. 

“C’mere, baby,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s waist with one long arm and dragging the smaller man into him. Bucky has to pummel down a moan from leaving his throat at the feeling of being manhandled. 

Steve slides down the headboard and lies flat on the mattress, bringing Bucky to his chest, casting his leg over his waist and wrapping a protective arm around his soulmate. Tension leaves Bucky’s body like flowing water. 

Bucky’s not satisfied though. He climbs fully on top of Steve, laying his head down on the pillows of his buxom pecs. “Steve...” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper. 

“What is it, sugar?” The timbre of Steve’s voice is so, _so_ pleasant to lie against. Bucky smiles. 

“Can you please hold me? Tight?” 

He pauses, tenses for a bit, then does as asked, both arms coming to rest snugly around Bucky’s lower back. It makes the omega whimper, and not in a sexual way–moreso in relief and vulnerability than anything else. 

“What’s gotten into you, sweetheart? What happened?” 

Here goes nothing. 

“Promise me you–” 

“Oh, _Jesus,_ Bucky, what happened?” 

He gulps. “Um, well...” He pauses, trying to figure out the best way to say this. 

There is none. 

“Brock showed up at my house today and tried to force himself on me.” 

Bucky can feel the solid abs and pecs he’s laying on constrict. He looks up at Steve’s face, but his stoic expression and the bizarre angle he has makes his emotions inscrutable. He stays like that for a while, his big body one big ball of tension. “Steve?” 

“Yeah, Buck. I’m here.” He sounds… restricted?

That isn’t a good word for it. It feels like Steve is only a thread away from losing control over himself. 

And Bucky, ever the anti-confrontational, ‘please don’t be mad at me’, apologize-for-everything bitch, does what he does best yet again. 

“I’m so sorry, I just, I did–” 

“–Stop stop _stop,_ babydoll, just **stop**. I’m not mad at you. I promise. This is **not** your fault. I’m mad at myself for leaving you alone like I did.” He’s quiet again, and Bucky can tell that the alpha is having a maudlin inner monologue right now. The next words from his mouth prove his theory correct. “I left you in _tears,_ ” he continues, “and you probably were thinking that I didn’t care or that I was disgusted with you or something.” 

Bucky shakes his head against Steve’s chest, “no no no, no, **no**. That is _not_ what I thought. Was I mad at you? Yes. But I didn’t think that you didn’t care.” 

He just shakes his head dismissively. “What exactly happened, honey?” 

And so Bucky tells him a truncated version of what happened. How Brock was waiting for him on his porch, how he said he followed Bucky home, how he pushed up on the omega, how he wanted to see Bucky’s ass on his knot, and how he tazed the alpha twice in the nutsack before getting in his car and fleeing. Oh, and how he had a cracked windshield now.

By the time he gets finished with the story, Steve’s hyperventilating, the smell of anger permeating the space around the pair. It’s making Bucky’s hindbrain panic; his alpha’s upset. “Steve, Steve, Steve,” he crawls up his body so that they’re eye-to-eye. “Hey, look at me. I’m right here. I’m okay. I’m with you, not with him.” 

It does little to calm the man down, still breathing fast and the scent of anger somehow even stronger. 

Steve’s eyes harden, gloss over with determination and rage. It’s almost as though he’s slipped into a trance. 

“Steve, please, please stay with me, you can’t just–” Bucky cuts off, because Steve isn’t even looking at him anymore. Well, he is, technically, but it’s more like he’s looking _through_ Bucky, the lenses in his eyes shifting to see objects further away, focusing on something hundreds of meters _behind_ Bucky. 

“Please don’t leave me alo–” 

“–I’m gonna kill him,” Steve growls as he gently moves Bucky off of him, rolling the smaller body to the other side of the bed gracefully. He stands up so fast and stalks to the door with such speed that Bucky tumbles onto the ground chasing after him, his maladroit attempt at a chase halted by the slippery, freshly waxed hardwood floors. 

“ _Steve!_ ” Bucky cries, tries to put as much emotion as he can behind it. The alpha stops, door partially ajar, and looks at Bucky. The omega is crying now (when did he start doing that?), tears meeting at the center of his chin, dripping onto his shirt. “Steve, please don’t leave me right now, I don’t wanna be alone, I–I can’t do it, I can–” 

_It works._

And it’s not untrue either–if Steve had left Bucky alone again, especially now, there’s no telling what the omega would do. Probably spontaneously combust, if we’re being honest. 

His eyes soften immediately, his posture deflating slightly. “–Sweetheart, hey, baby, doll,” Steve coos, wrapping his perfect arms around Bucky again, drawing him into his chest, “it’s okay, I won’t–you’re right, I can’t leave you right now. I’m sorry I got you so worked up babylove, I let my emotions get the best of me.” His thumb is tracing circles into the small of Bucky’s back. It’s comforting. 

Bucky inhales shakily. “Steve…” 

“Yeah, doll?” 

Bucky swallows. Doesn’t exactly know how to ask for what he wants. 

“I… I need you.” 

He cups Bucky’s face with both cheeks. “You already have me, sweets, I’m right here.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “No, Steve, I need… I need to be _yours_.” 

He crinkles his nose _adorably,_ kisses Bucky softly and chastely. “You’re already mine baby, what do you mean?” 

Bucky kisses Steve’s palm. “I…” and _fucking hell,_ Bucky’s embarrassed as the living fuck because he doesn’t know how to request to get fucked through the mattress. It’s not his fault he’s the most _shy_ person on the planet _and_ a big fucking _virgin_ to match. “I-I want you to take me. Please.” 

He kisses Steve’s other palm. “I need to feel like I’m yours. Please, Steve. I need to feel you, your hands all over me…” Bucky trails off because he’s not the best at dirty talk. He’s too _damn shy._

“Are you sure sweetheart?” 

Bucky nods, teary-eyed. “I just need you, so badly, please… please don’t make me beg.” 

Steve blinks, then puts his hands back down to Bucky’s waist. “I could never make a pretty girl like you beg,” he coos into Bucky’s ear. 

Again, Bucky shivers at the praise. 

Steve kisses Bucky, finally throwing all that chaste bullshit out the window. It’s aggressive, but still neat. It’s not all teeth and tongue _yet._ Steve’s still dominating the kiss though, Bucky barely even putting up a fight. Large baseball mitt size hands scoop Bucky up and scoot him gently up the bed, Steve coming to rest in between the omega’s legs. 

“Steve,” Bucky moans breathily, the feeling of being manhandled addling his brain. They kiss more, Steve practically _fucking_ into Bucky’s mouth. It’s lewd, and Bucky’s turning into a puddle again. He doesn’t feel like he’s gonna nut in his pants again (thank _god_ ), but he does feel kinda… fluffy. He doesn’t know how to explain it. 

Suddenly, Steve draws himself back, pulls Buck’s t-shirt over his head. The younger lifts his arms, and as the shirt is cast aside, he feels Steve stop dead in his tracks. He meets his eyes, but they’re transfixed on something. He follows his gaze, and he realizes that the small bows of the thong he’s wearing are visible over the waistband of his sweats. 

The scent of embarrassment is flying off of Bucky before he can really even _feel_ it. “Steve, I’m so sorry, I-I-I know I look horrible but I forgot I was–”

“You think you look _bad in these?_ ” Steve’s voice is a tad gravelly, lower than usual. His eyes are darker than he’s ever seen them. “Is that what you think, doll?” 

Bucky bites his lip and nods. 

“ _Oh honey,_ these are _fucking gorgeous_ ,” he whispers, sliding Bucky’s joggers off, “goodness _fuck,_ are you trying to kill me?” 

“You like them?” Bucky asks, still as shy and unsure as ever, voice quiet. 

“ _Like them?_ I fucking _love_ them, _princess._ ” 

Princess. 

Bucky whimpers softly at that. 

“Fuck, princess, these are so pretty,” he finally looks in Bucky’s eyes again, “ _you’re_ so pretty.” 

Bucky can’t take the praise, he really can’t, so he leans forward and throws his arms around Steve, mewling into his neck. “Steve,” he whimpers again, higher pitched than he’s ever heard himself. 

“Yeah, babygirl? You got all dressed up in these pretty panties for Daddy? You’re such a good fucking girl for Daddy.” 

And that’s all Bucky really wanted, to be good for Steve–for _Daddy._

He preens, clutching at Steve desperately, needing to _feel_ him as much as possible. “ _Daddy, please,_ I need you,” he whines in between frantic kisses pressed to Steve’s neck. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay princess, I’m right here,” Steve coos softly into Bucky’s hair, “Daddy’s gonna take good care of his best girl, okay?” 

Bucky feels like he needs to _scream_ at the top of his lungs. He’s feeling so, _so_ many things, a mixture of safety, _adoration_ , appreciation, _love_ , excitement, and it’s all itching to come out. He has so many things he wants to say, mainly how much he _loves_ Steve, how he trusts him unequivocally, unconditionally, to never lead him astray. It’s dangerous, really, how willing he is to give himself to Steve, how _obsequious_ he truly wants to be for the alpha. It makes him feel a little lightheaded as Steve pilfers smooth caresses of his thighs. “These fucking _legs_ , doll,” he murmurs, “god _damn_.” 

Steve’s never cursed prior to this, never been so _uncontrolled_ , and to know that he’s making the alpha lose his grip like this… Bucky _and_ his hindbrain are internally hollering with pride and happiness. 

“Daddy, please, please kiss me,” and shit, Bucky doesn’t know where this whiny, needy, subby part of him is coming from. He kind of detests it, but he loves how much he’s able to lean on Steve, is in love with the idea of needing him so intensely. 

Steve rakes his massive hands over Bucky’s thighs, bringing them up to rest on his shoulders that Bucky will _never_ get tired of. He kisses Bucky’s inner thigh as he folds the omega in half, pressing him into the mattress. The weight of the alpha is grounding, making him feel safer, like the world–and Brock–don’t exist anymore. “You’re such a needy girl, aren’t you baby?” 

Bucky tries to reply but his tongue seems to be pinned down by something. It’s almost as if his tongue can’t keep up with his mind. 

“Yeah? You getting floaty on me, princess? You need Daddy to make you feel better?” 

Bucky has no idea what the fuck is going on anymore, his vision hazy and unclear. All that he knows is that he can feel the slick that’s been leaking out of him like a damn faucet, making the bed beneath him wet. As he grinds down into his whimpering form, Steve speaks again, voice gravelly. “And look at that, look at how wet this pussy gets for me. Daddy got you all worked up, huh sweetheart?” 

Steve _has_ to know that Bucky is in no state to reply whatsoever. He’s confined to desperate whimpers and moans, hands grabby and body pliant, willing to receive whatever Daddy throws at him. 

_Finally_ , after what seems like eons, Daddy kisses Bucky, big hands cupping the back of his head and in the center of his back, heating up his entire body. He continues to tongue-fuck the omega’s mouth as he grinds his hips into smaller ones. They kiss for an indeterminate amount of time (is it minutes? Hours? Seconds? Bucky’s head is _swimming_ okay) before Steve moves his assault down to Bucky’s jaw and neck. The smaller man had never been kissed there before, so he was unaware of how sensitive his neck would be.

It’s a lot. Bucky’s eyes roll to the back of his hands as blunt fingernails rake across the broad back of his lover. Steve’s growling with each nip, suck, and bite at his soulmate’s neck. And when he bites down on the omega’s mating gland, laving at it with his tongue, Bucky almost nuts. It feels like someone dumped a half-cup of slick out of Bucky’s hole. 

“You’re such a sensitive, sweet thing, aren’t you honey? So sensitive for Daddy?” Steve asks as he trails his hand down Bucky’s back, coming to rest on the _sopping_ wet spot over Bucky’s hole. “And _fuck_ , you’re so wet for Daddy too.” 

Bucky makes a whimpering noise, is frantically gluing his lips to any part of Steve’s body he can get a hand on. Currently, Bucky’s doing a damn good job of sucking a hickey into Steve’s shoulder. Steve slips his hand over the sensitive skin of Bucky’s hole, earning him a whiny, feminine moan. He growls with pleasure. Bucky is still whimpering and mewling, suckling on Steve’s shoulder when the alpha slides a finger in the tight heat. Steve makes a cut-off growl filled with pleasure, while Bucky gasps on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay, doll?” Steve asks quickly, eyes scanning his soulmate for pain and injury. 

Bucky, feeling like the biggest bitch of all time, replies. “I-I need you to kiss me Daddy, _please_.” 

Steve looks at him, eyes frantic, and then kisses him, finger still probing and stretching. Bucky mewls lewdly into Steve’s mouth, his sounds and fumbling fingers on substantial shoulders a plea for more. In the back of his mind, somewhere underneath all the syrup and water that has somehow found its way into Bucky’s thoughts, he hates how whimper-y, needy, desperate, whiny… _dependent_ he is. 

Sliding two fingers into Bucky now, Steve plants a kiss on the side of Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky moans like one of those overactive pornstars. The ones whose moans are nice, but it’s also like, bitch, you know damn well it don’t feel _that_ good. Except, it does. 

It really does. 

And Bucky’s scared, because, holy shit. The power that Steve has is frightening. 

And so, so _fucking arousing._

Bucky’s chanting for his Daddy now, unable to stop himself. He needs to feel Daddy’s lips on his, and they need to _stay there_. An obscene amount of slick is now on the bed, the dark blue comforter starting to stick to Bucky’s skin. 

“Daddy, please, I ca– _ah!_ ”

“What was that, princess?” Steve asks into Bucky’s mouth, fingers flicking (like literally flicking) Bucky’s prostate. 

It takes everything Bucky has and then some to speak with some coherence. “I need you inside me. Please, I, I can’t take anymore.” 

His voice is threatening to crack, the intonation of it similar to the beginnings of a sobbing session; a ball of tightness at the top of his throat seems to be lodged there. His hole–his _pussy,_ excuse me–is now fluttering on Steve’s three (when did he add another one?) fingers. Bucky gives Steve his best pleading face: mouth open, pupils blown, irises shining, eyes half-lidded and desperate–frenzied. 

Steve looks put-off for the smallest fraction of a second, and then he’s kissing Bucky harder than ever. It’s mostly tongue. It’s _outrageous_ how soft Steve’s lips are and how fucking loud the kiss is. Steve separates from Bucky to _finally_ ( ** _finally!!!_** ) take his shirt off. 

And wow. Steve’s expansive chest is the stuff of dreams. The defined, raised traps, the sinuous curve of his gigantic pecs, the boulder-like shoulders, the biceps, the tris, _all of it,_ is going to _destroy_ Bucky. As the alpha tosses his shirt elsewhere, Bucky gets this sensation that he can’t shake, that’s ineffable. He’s so… hungry for Steve. He wants him in every way he can imagine, so much so that for the most minute of moments, it frightens him. And the physical contact, while Bucky is absolutely _revelling_ in it, is almost… not enough. There’s this primal itch, this urge within him, that even after he gets fucked into the universe parallel to this one, he’s not sure will be satiated. 

Bucky barely has time to extrapolate these thoughts before Steve’s calloused yet soft hands are back wrapping around him. He feels something poke at his entrance, and _wow,_ Bucky cannot believe that Steve somehow managed to take off his underwear _and_ shorts without Bucky noticing. 

But then again, Bucky feels like he’s been making out with Steve for a million years, and even then it still isn’t long enough. 

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” Steve asks, voice dripping with love and concern that makes Bucky want to _yell_. 

It’s all he can do to manage a weak, needy whimper of agreement into Steve’s neck, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Okay baby, just let me know if it’s too much. The last thing I wanna do is hurt you, doll.”

Bucky’s eyes roll back at Steve’s concern, and he feels the obscenely large, girthy intrusion at his entrance. It’s a lot, but the grip that Steve has on his body and the feeling of their locked lips is making Bucky feel invincible. He whimpers into his partner’s mouth, a way of breathing and relaxing his body. 

“Goddamn honey, this pussy’s so tight for me,” Steve whispers into the shell of Bucky’s ear. He kisses it, swirls his tongue around, gets Bucky to moan at that sensation while sliding another few inches in. “There you go princess, open this pretty little pussy up for Daddy.” Bucky bears down automatically, doing what his alpha asked of him instantly and without hesitation. He slides in a few _more_ inches and _fuck, how much dick does Steve have?_ “So good, doing s’good for me princess,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s slack-jawed mouth, “such a good girl for Daddy.” 

Bucky’s only able to release breathless, desperate moans as Steve sheaths his seemingly endless dick in him. All of it is too much, it all feels _too good_ , the feeling of being spread apart like a hot knife through butter is making him want to scream with pleasure, but the comfort he feels from Steve cradling him in his arms is overwhelming. And even if he _wanted_ to say anything, Bucky’s not sure he could. His tongue feels like it weighs a ton. 

Steve’s still fucking him senseless though, moaning filthy praises onto swollen lips in between smoldering, consuming kisses. 

It’s Bucky’s dream. 

It’s all he can do to just lie there and take Steve like the good girl he desperately wants to be for Steve. And if he let Steve tell it, he _is_ being a good girl for him right now. So he’s feeling pretty fucking content, if he could say so himself. 

Not that he could. 

The only sounds that he can make are pathetic, breathy, needy whines and moans that are driving Steve crazy. He knows because Steve tells him, tells him how pretty he is and how gorgeous he is and how thankful he is that he has such a _perfect little omega_ that’s just _oh so desperate for Daddy_. Bucky could die happily in this moment, because for the first time, he feels something that he’s been searching for since he turned 13 years old. Love. 

In a startling moment of clarity, he feels the boiling sensation of love spread through his body from his heart. His eyes clear, lips move with precision, and suddenly, he’s clutching at Steve maddeningly, like if his grip falters even just a little, Steve will be lost to him forever. 

It surprises Steve, who only leans back to kiss and nip at Bucky’s mating gland, his dick still pistoning in and out of Bucky, still meeting his prostate with every stroke. “What’s gotten into you doll? You getting close? Is that little clit of yours gonna blow?” 

_Okay, so,_ **_wow_** _, that was hot, but, no, that isn’t what I was thinking._

“Steve, Daddy, I-I,” Steve pulls back to look at him in his eyes and holy _fuck_ , Bucky starts crying and sniveling, overcome with a tsunami of emotion. “I-I _love you_ , I– _oh fuck_ –I love you, Daddy I, _nnngh_.” 

The alpha beams, picks up his pace a considerable amount, continues to onslaught on Bucky’s prostate. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Steve says sweetly into Bucky’s lips before kissing him gently, softly, _carefully_. Filled with emotions and love and all things that makes Bucky’s insides turn into warm applesauce. 

“Daddy, I–” Bucky’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his nails scrape down the broad back of his alpha. “I, you–you’re gonna make me cum, _nngh!_ ” 

“Aw,” Steve mutters condescendingly, “Daddy’s got you feeling good princess? Y’gonna cum on Daddy’s dick like a good girl?” 

Bucky opens his mouth in a silent scream as pleasure racks his body from head to toe. His eyes are open (he thinks) but he can’t see anything, can barely even hear anything besides Steve’s gentle, deep voice cooing in his ear. He can feel his Daddy still fucking into him, even through the fluttering, because of course, his stamina has to be fucking stellar. 

Bucky’s barely started to come down before he felt Steve’s knot pop, catching on his rim and dragging in the _most_ pleasurable way he could have ever imagined. His alpha’s breathing is straining and the thrusting of his hips is getting just the slightest bit out of rhythm. Flushed cheekbones and ecstasy-rolled eyes are captivating Bucky’s gaze as Steve finally locks himself inside his soulmate and growls softly into Bucky’s mating gland, laving at the sensitive skin. 

This makes the omega nut again, which Steve laughs at while copious amounts of his own nut are still spewing into Bucky. When he finally opens his eyes, Daddy’s staring back down at him, a manifestation of Beyonce’s sweetest dream. 

He reaches up and pulls Steve down to him, needing to be as close to him as he possibly can, just to quell some primal fear he has of his love being unrequited–of not being _good enough_. 

“You’re so handsy, sweetheart,” Steve says with a soft groan, Bucky nuzzled in his neck, “d’ya really miss me this much?” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just whimpers, nods, and shivers a bit as Steve’s grip around him tightens slightly. 

“Jesus, honey, what’s gotten into you? And how are you so sensitive?” Steve laughs a bit. 

“S-sorry, I just–” Bucky inhales shakily as Steve shifts a bit and his knot pulls on Bucky’s rim sweetly, “–I can’t help it.” 

“Well what are ya feeling right now, sweet thing? You’re holding onto me like I’m gonna leave you or somethin’.” Bucky freezes, body tensing, and Steve adds. “I don’t mind it doll, I promise I don’t.” He kisses Bucky’s shoulder, “but I just gotta know if it’s something I did to make you feel this way.” 

Bucky swallows thickly. “N-no, I just…” He pauses, gathers himself. _This is gonna be embarrassing._ “I’ve never really been… touched before. So all of this feels really, um… really good.” He bites his lip, expecting Steve to snicker. He can’t see his face, but his breathing remains calm and even. “I-my feelings for you are very… intense and I can’t really… control them? I just want to be as close to you as possible…” 

Steve rubs at Bucky’s back with his hands, still blanketing his body with his. He seems expectant, like he _knows_ that Bucky wasn’t done with that sentence and still had more to say. “I… I guess I’m just afraid of you not… feeling the same way? Or like-like I’m not good enough… for you.” 

Steve pulls back and fixes him with an intense stare. “I-what?” He shakes his head. “You’re it for me, Buck. You’re my soulmate. I never thought I’d be able to have one, and I just got you. I’m _never_ leaving you, okay?” Bucky nods slowly, big doe eyes meeting slightly squinted serious ones. “You understand me, right dollface?” 

“Y-yes Daddy.” 

Steve kisses him chastely, gently, filled with things he knows aren’t strong enough to be conveyed by words alone. “How was your first time, then?” 

Bucky blushes, whole face and neck going red. 

Steve chuckles. “There’s no way you’re getting embarrassed right now,” Steve guffaws, “I’m literally _still_ in your pussy, sweetcheeks.” 

Bucky shivers at that word. “Y-yeah but it’s… it’s different,” Bucky whimpers out. 

Steve kisses him on the cheek, stares into his eyes. Bucky, of course, looks away. “You’re such a bashful thing, aren’t you?” 

.

.

.

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, Steve asleep next to him so hard he’s practically dead to the world. He was pulled to consciousness by something, and now he needs to figure it out. His sleep-addled brain is trying to understand _why the fuck_ it woke him up, but it isn’t cooperating with him. Something feels… off. He can’t explain it, but something’s amiss. He tries to coax the answer to the forefront of his thoughts, to bring his nascently awake mind to speed. 

He remembers. 

He carefully pries himself out of Steve’s grip–not all the way, but just a bit–so he can reach his phone. It’s 02:31. It’s late, but he doesn’t care. They’ll be awake anyways. He just hopes his anxious scent won’t wake Steve. 

He thinks. 

He _hopes._

**where were Steve and the others at for this mission again?**

Nat’s reply is almost instant. 

**Bulgaria.**

Bucky replies before Nat can send her follow-up one. 

**and they did spy work right?**

**yes, what’s up?**

In the distant reaches of his mind, he knows he should be concerned for his own safety, but since when has he had any sense of self-preservation? He’s more concerned about what this development could mean for Steve. 

Bucky looks up at his alpha, admiring the beauty of the man slumbering next to him. _So perfect. So breathtaking, so handsome, and… mine?_ It’s a lot to think about. A lot to process. And not for the first time, he’s worried about him.

Because something isn’t adding up. 

Something that’s making Bucky’s stomach _lurch._

_How did Brock know that Steve was going to be in Bulgaria doing spy work?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! I'll try to post this next chapter by Saturday night to make up for my absence.
> 
> Sorry for this plot twist (?) by the way. I don't wanna say where I have this story going but.... the next couple of chapters might be a lil bit tough.


	4. baby, you know how to drive in rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, I have,” Bucky answers as he places the duffle bags on the floor by his bed, “I’ve been to New York, Provo… DC. Chicago, too, for a little.” Steve still looks sad, so Bucky adds on more to make the energy less… sad. “My favorite was when we played in Provo. The night sky there was insane. I saw so many constellations and I could even see the spiral arm of the galaxy. I’ll never forget it.” 
> 
> The alpha gives Bucky a pensive stare for a moment, before grabbing the duffle bag straps in one hefty hand. “You wanna go on an adventure with me?” 
> 
> “I–I’d go anywhere with you.” It’s an unbelievably honest answer, one that not even Bucky knew he had in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update! Depression hit, and then I got into my dream school (it's actually a PsyD program like in the story) so it's been a hell of a ride these last couple of weeks. I'll try to post more regularly, I promise!

**Bucky, why did you ask me that?**

He’s been staring at his phone for 5 minutes, trying to formulate a response. He has no idea what to say, because regardless of how he does it, revealing to Nat that Brock had information about Steve and his whereabouts is going to raise several (like, hundreds) of red flags. He glances over to Steve, who is still konked out next to him. He tries to keep his mind from descending into that lugubrious state, where everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. It’s been like that for most of his life–for Bucky, when it rains, there’s a fucking 900 meter tall tsunami and an accompanying 10.1 earthquake. And when it’s not raining, there’s a massive volcano eruption going on somewhere in his life. He can’t seem to catch a break.

And when he does catch one, when things actually seem to be going well for him? Life has a way of ruining it. So as he drinks in the holy sight of Steve laying next to him, eyes moving in his R.E.M sleep, he’s afraid that somehow, someway, someone’s going to take Steve– _his Steve_ –away from him. 

**Meet me in the hallway in front of your room in 3 minutes.**

**I’ve got bad news.**

Nat doesn’t reply, just reads the message. He places a gentle kiss to Steve’s hand that he has oh so carefully removed from clutching him so tightly and securely all night, then more soft ones to Steve’s bicep, forearm, shoulder, and lips. The alpha stirs, but doesn’t wake; Bucky is grateful. He just needs to talk to Nat really, really quickly.

.

.

.

“He said _what?!_ ” Nat _yells_ , throwing her hands in the air in exclamation, “he said **what?!** ”

Bucky is glad he did not have this conversation outside of Steve’s door like he had originally planned. 

“He said that I ‘should know Steve’s doing spy work in Bulgaria.’” 

“Oh what the _fuck_ ,” Nat says as he face twists into one of horror. “What… what does he look like?” 

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “I… dunno? I mean, black hair, rugged face, tall, alpha–” 

Nat shakes her head and clenches her fists. “No no **no** , Bucky, I mean, was there anything strange about him?” 

_Oh._ “Well, yeah, like…” He scratches his head. “Honestly? He was fucking _ripped_. Like, holy shit. He looked so… imposing. I was scared of him before but it honestly felt like he could’ve killed me so easily. I wanna say…” he peeks up at Nat, who’s staring back at him intensely, telling him to say how he feels with her eyes. “It looked like he could go head to head with Steve.” 

She looks like she’s doing calculus in her head. He wouldn't be surprised if she was. 

“Did he do anything else that was crazy?” Bucky must make a face, because she tacks “be honest, Bucky,” after that. 

“Well, yeah. My car window? He cracked it so easily. He got like, two fingers on it, and it almost _shattered_. And then, when I parked my car, he was something like 40 feet away and up like 8 stairs, but he was on me in less than _two seconds_. It was insane.” 

Nat looks crestfallen. “That sounds like...” Jarvis chimes in, stopping before he finishes explaining. 

“I know.” She turns to look at Bucky. “What did he look like when you saw him last?” 

Bucky thinks he knows what she’s–th _ey’re_ –trying to say. “He wasn’t as short or as skinny as he used to be… are you saying that…?”

Nat’s face gives Bucky his answer right away.

“Okay, so, what the fuck and more importantly _how_ the fuck? And we can’t forget _who_ the fuck?” He complains, palms looking to the heavens for an answer.

Jarvis starts. “Well, the only people that could possibly know the whereabouts of Captain Rogers would be–” 

“Hydra,” Nat answers. “It’s–he’s Hydra. That’s the only explanation. But I just need to _look_ at him first. Are his and Steve’s musculature similar?” 

“Yeah,” he answers quickly, “like I said, it looked like he could fight Steve and actually hold his own. I’ve never seen anything like it before… except for Steve.” 

“I found recent footage of him from a Chipotle last evening. Agent Romanov, you will want to see this,” Jarvis states ominously. 

She turns and enters her room, beckoning for Bucky to follow behind her.

Displayed on the same TV screen they’d been watching shitty Michael Bay movies was security footage of the Chipotle that Bucky was at last night. It felt like a _massive_ breach in privacy, knowing that someone could just access footage of him like that, but then again, that’s just the nature of the world that we live in now. 

He’d been so busy sulking and just trying to get home that he hadn’t noticed Brock enter the restaurant from a different door, only to stare at Bucky like he was prey. It was ominous, seeing the alpha stare him down like he was ready to pounce, neck veins bulging with restraint. Bucky shudders, thinking about what might have happened if Brock were to encounter him in the parking lot instead of inside, around other people. 

“Well shit,” Nat startles Bucky from his thoughts, “He’s definitely on something. I’ve never seen someone look like… _that_ before, naturally.” 

“My sentiments exactly,” Jarvis adds. “And since Mr. Barnes said that he cracked his window…” 

“He’s definitely enhanced somehow. It might be a replicated version of the serum...” She trails off as she stares blankly at nothing. 

  
“Um, yes, hello, hi,” Bucky quips, “so, what _exactly_ are we about to do now? Like, are y’all just gonna roll up on Brock and fuck him up? Y’all can’t just do that–this is _Hydra_ we’re talking about here.” 

Nat fixes him with a “bitch, really?” type of gaze. “You do know that your soulmate almost single handedly destroyed Hydra right?” 

He blushes. “Yes, but two things: for one, you were the one that shot Pierce,” she smiles at that, “and two, _obviously_ he didn’t destroy Hydra because if he did, this wouldn’t be happening?” 

“You got a point there.” 

“Exactly.” He swallows, picking his words carefully. “So, I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s _fuck_ Brock Rumlow ‘round these parts, but I don’t think any of us are in a position to do anything about it at this moment in time.” 

She ponders his statement for a moment, placing hands on slender hips and cocking her head to the side, blonde hair framing her face. “Okay. I see what you’re saying. I get it. I do. But Steve?” She smiles sympathetically before continuing, “you know he’s not going to let the guy who violated you just _walk_ away. Even if we do have a plan to get Brock, the Devil himself has a higher chance of making an appearance than we do getting Steve to sit still for the rest of tonight.” 

When she’s right, she’s right. 

“Well, let me talk to him then.” 

“Bucky,” her face turns serious, “you need to be careful with this. You might have been able to keep him calm tonight with… stuff,” she casts her eyes away as she alludes to the sex she can probably still smell on him, “but if you think he’s not going to go on a rampage as soon as he wakes up…?” Her sentence trails off ominously, and he knows exactly what she’s trying to say.

“I… know. But I think I might be able to play the ‘if you leave me then who’s going to protect me?’ card.” 

“No, you can’t,” she deadpans, “you have literally all of the Avengers here to protect you.” 

He waves his hands dismissively. “Y’all are not about to be fighting this battle for me. I could never ask that of you guys and it’s not that deep anywa–” 

“Not that deep?” She interjects, anger seeping into her voice, “Bucky, he violated you in one of the worst ways at the literal worst time. And then tried to do it again. What do you mean it isn’t that deep?” 

He winces. “You _know_ what I mean, Nat, I’m just saying that yo–” 

“ _No_ , you don’t get to make this decision because you clearly don’t care enough about yourself to make good ones. We’re helping you. No argument.” 

He pouts, slightly. “But–” 

“Aht aht!” Nat says, moving towards Bucky. “No arguing. Go back to Steve and sleep. You need to figure out what you’re gonna tell him. Shit, _I_ need to figure out what I’m gonna tell the team. They’re not gonna be happy when they hear this.” 

Bucky starts to argue back, but a stern look from the Russian makes him bite his tongue and head out the door. 

On the way up to Steve’s room, he starts to panic slightly. 

What is he going to say to Steve? Did he hear him leave? How is he gonna keep him here when he tells him the truth? 

He inputs the pin to his door with shaky hands.

As he twists the doorknob, he’s half expecting for Steve to swing the door open and hound him with questions. But it never comes. 

He softly, noiselessly pads across the apartment back towards the room he’d been sleeping in with Steve. As he nears the door, he notices the clock on the microwave. He’s only been gone seven minutes–which is good! Steve could still be asleep. 

He ever-so-slowly creaks open the door to the bedroom, only to be hit with the overwhelming scent of panicked alpha. He throws the door open, not knowing what he was about to see, and is greeted by an _adorable_ but confused and worried looking Steve, frantically scanning the room with his sleep-mussed hair reflecting the moonlight streaming in through the windows. 

His plan to wait until morning to drop this shitty news on Steve is off now because Steve is _wide_ awake and standing up and striding towards Bucky. 

He freezes, not knowing what to do, because Steve’s face, not properly illuminated in the dark confines of the room, seems to be stoic. Is he mad? 

Bucky doesn’t know. 

What Bucky _does_ know, however, is how panty-droppingly sexy Steve sounds with sleep still clutching onto his voice. 

He leaks a little bit at just the sound of his alpha’s voice, not really even recognizing what was spoken to him. All the omega knows is the timbre of Steve’s voice and the intense gaze he’s holding with his alpha. 

If Steve smells Bucky’s slick, he doesn’t show it. He lightly cups Bucky’s cheek–which is making him horny _again_ –before repeating himself. “Baby, where did you go?” 

_Shit._ “I-I had to talk to Nat about something,” Bucky squeaks, voice shaky as the living fuck. 

Steve scrunches his nose up slightly. “About what?” 

He gives Steve a desperate but moderately chaste kiss. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like the right thing to do. The alpha smiles into Bucky’s lips. “What was that for?” 

Gulping, he sighs. “I just…” He lets his head fall on Steve’s chest. “Steve I’m sorry I…” And Bucky _hates_ this. He hates that he just can’t have nice things. There’s always some kind of caveat, some kind of issue that gets in the way of his happiness. 

He also hates that he’s so head over heels for Steve, even though it’s been less than a week. So what would Steve do if he said how he really felt? 

Sure, he’s said it before, but that was in the throes of passion, where anything said can go. 

“You just _what_ honey? You’re worrying me.” 

Biting his lip, he swallows. _Here goes nothing._ “I–I love you, Steve.” 

“I know. I love you too, Bucky Barnes,” Steve replies like it’s the _easiest fucking thing in the world_ , “but what’s wrong? Why are you so anxious?” 

Reeling from the nonchalant admittance his soulmate just made, Bucky decides that brutal honesty is the only thing that will keep Steve here with him and not on some global rampage. “I-I love you, _so much_ , and I just got you, and I don’t wanna leave you, at all, not even for a little bit beca–” 

Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulders, rocking him slightly. “Bucky. Before you give me a heart attack, _please_ , tell me what you and Nat were talking about.” His bright ocean orbs are frantic and nervous, jumping from one omega pupil to another, and the omega realizes that his verbosity isn’t helping anything. 

“We’re pretty sure that Brock is a part of Hydra and took a knock-off of the serum you have. That’s why he was so ripped and was able to crack my window with little effort.” 

Steve freezes, then sits down. He’s quiet for a long time (Bucky thinks) before he speaks again. “Okay. Do you know where he is?” 

“N-no.” 

He quickly runs a hand through his locks. “Okay.” Sighing, he scoots back into the bed, opening the covers for Bucky. “Come back to bed.” 

It’s a command, but one that Bucky knows he doesn’t have to follow. But all he wants to do right now is bask in the safety that only his soulmate can provide. He slides off his socks and shirt, hesitating to take off his shorts. He feels strangely vulnerable getting naked in front of Steve now. He doesn’t know why, seeing as how the alpha was literally balls deep inside of him no more than 3 hours ago, but here he is, feeling as bashful as ever. 

Throwing caution to the wind, he strips himself of the final garment and slides into bed fast, trying to hide his body. He’s not ashamed of it–he works hard to keep it where it’s at. It’s just… different. 

Everything’s different with Steve Rogers. 

Steve grabs him and once again pulls Bucky over towards him, but this time, they’re so close their chests are touching. It’s… a lot for Bucky, who’s always had a tough time making eye contact–this time being no different. 

“You’re so, _so_ beautiful, you know that doll?” 

Bucky flushes. “T-thank you.” 

He feels, rather than sees Steve smile. “I love saying stuff like that to you because you always blush. And you look even prettier when you blush.” 

Smiling softly, he closes his eyes and covers his face a bit. He doesn’t know what to say. 

Steve grabs his wrists and maneuvers Bucky’s body effortlessly _yet again_ so that the omega is lying on his chest, head right over the powerful drum of his heart. Steve’s scent is surprisingly calm and comforting, and Bucky finds himself growing tired, the rhythmic fall and rise of Steve’s chest added with the comforting thumb stroking his lower back sapping him of his energy. 

  
But he can’t go to sleep yet, not without knowing that Steve isn’t going to leave him again. 

“I love you, Bucky. I hope you know that.”

Nodding, he replies. “I do.” 

A big hand squeezes his hip. “Good.” He brings Bucky up to his eye level suddenly. The omega casts his eyes and head down, but a thick finger tilts his chin up. “Look at me, sweet thing.” 

He obeys. 

“I will never, _ever_ let anything happen to you. Not again. I’ll always, _always_ keep you safe, Buck. Always.” 

It’s such an earnest and truthful admission, his eyes shining with honesty and sincerity, that Bucky finds himself, once again, breathless. He figures it’ll be a common occurrence with Steve. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I love you so much.” 

Melting into the chiseled torso and protective feeling, Bucky mewls. “I love you more.” 

He vaguely remembers what was going to say before his eyes force themselves closed. “Please don’t leave me, Steve.” 

As Steve runs a soothing, warm hand over his back “I wouldn’t dream of it,” is the last thing Bucky hears before he’s out like a light. 

.

.

.

  
  


Bucky doesn’t sleep for very long. He’s never really been able to, not since he was younger. He figures it must be a genetic thing that’s been exacerbated by all the trauma he endured starting in high school. 

Cracking his eyes open, he’s more than pleased to feel Steve still asleep beneath him. He exhales quietly, relief flooding him. He was so concerned that Steve wasn’t going to be there when he woke up, and now that he’s beneath him, Bucky feels like he’s won the lottery. 

He takes stock of everything around him. It’s 05:49, a little less than 45 minutes before Steve wakes up to take his morning jog. Steve’s breathing is slightly labored, just a tinge on the side of heated, and that’s when Bucky realizes that his soulmate’s suffering from a typical case of morning wood. 

But he should know by now that there’s no such thing as typical with Steve Rogers. 

Steve’s dick is leaking copious amounts of precome, so much so that Bucky can feel the glide of their joined skin on his stomach. The smell of arousal coming off his alpha is getting to Bucky, so much so that he can feel the familiar tingle begin in his own stomach, the beginnings of slick starting to form in his nether regions. 

A thought pops into Bucky’s head.

Should he give Steve top while he’s asleep?

It seems like every guy’s dream. He still hasn’t had the chance to put the damn thing in his mouth, and Lord knows he _really_ wants to, but fuck, he hasn’t actually had this conversation with Steve. He hasn’t gotten consent to do it. 

So he just sits there, trapped comfortably in Steve’s big ass arms while his dick squirts enough precum to flood an ant hill. Bucky’s definitely going to need another shower when they wake up. 

Bucky’s phone starts ringing out of nowhere, scaring the absolute _shit_ out of him, allowing him to jump out of Steve’s arms. He frantically reaches for the Apple device as Steve startles awake, tightening his grip on Bucky. He’s barely able to grab the damn thing as the scent of Steve’s panic starts to permeate the air. 

He answers without looking to see who it is. 

“Hello?” he asks, slightly annoyed, because it’s 05:51. Although Bucky doesn’t sleep, you don’t just call someone at 05;51 to have a fucking casual conversation.

But that’s exactly what his brother Jayvin does. “Bucky! How are you this morning?” 

He facepalms like he’s in a fucking movie. “Jayvin. It’s 06:41. Why are you calling me _this_ early in the goddamn morning?!” 

His brother chuckles quietly. “We haven’t talked in a long time.” Bucky can hear him opening and closing some kind of door as he continues speaking, “and I’ve always been able to tell when something big has been happening in your life. So... tell me what’s going on.” 

He’s not wrong. Jayvin has always been able to have this 6th sense regarding Bucky and his life experiences. Every time something happened to him, even if he wasn’t there, he would always call. He’d actually called him the first night Brock had forced himself inside of Bucky and his home, but Bucky wasn’t able to answer. That’s actually why his mom came home early–he called her and expressed concern that Bucky hadn’t picked up the phone. 

He glances down at Steve, who’s giving him a bit of a cute confused look. Bucky wants to kiss it off his face. “I don’t really have the time to talk to you about these things at this exact moment in time, sibling of mine.” 

He sees the realization flash across Steve’s face. 

“So something big _did_ happen! What is it?!”

“Jayvin, I’m not doing this with you right now,” Bucky grunts.

“Oh come on, I haven’t spoken to you in like 12 days! You’re already on the phone now, why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Jayvin, I’m going to hang up now,” he rolls his eyes, “I love you, and I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Don’t you hang up on m–” 

Bucky hangs up on him. 

He sends him a nice, “love you big bro, going back to sleep 💕💕💕” iMessage though. 

He’s suddenly hyper aware of Steve and the hold he has on Bucky’s hips. “Sorry about that, I had no idea he was going to call.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Steve smiles, “I’m just glad you got to talk to your brother, even if it was just for a little bit.”

Bucky revels in the comfort that he feels as Steve’s fire-hot hands bracket his hips. It doesn’t feel sexual, just securing and loving. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the comfortable silence as he lays back down on Steve’s chest. His alpha’s thumbs are drawing circles on his hip and in the small of his back, and Bucky could die happy right now. 

  
“Aren’t you going to go for a jog?” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I do have to go for one, actually. I can do it on the treadmill. You wanna come down to the gym with me?” 

“Oh yes. Yes. I need to have a good leg day. It’s been a hot ass minute.” 

“A what?” Bucky looks up and sees Steve’s face scrunched together, lost. 

“A hot ass minute,” Bucky answers flatly. 

Steve’s facial expression doesn’t change.

“It means a long time–come on, let’s get ready.” 

.

.

.

15 minutes later, Bucky’s wearing the smallest pair of compression shorts Steve has and his sleep shirt and standing at the squat rack. He’s going to kill his legs today, because he hasn’t worked out in about 4 days, which is 3 days too long. 

He’s got 4 sets of 12 reps of back squats, the same for front squats, 3 sets of 10 for deadlifts, 3 sets of 8 for slide lateral lunges with no weight, 3 sets of 12 for hip hinges, and a resistance band circuit to top it off. 

He’s gonna have jello legs after this. 

He’s also going to have to pop in and out of his house for a change of clothes, because as fun as it is working out in this amazing gym where he doesn’t feel the unwanted gaze of horny alphas on his round behind, he also hates wearing Steve’s clothes like this. 

Not because he doesn’t like wearing Steve’s clothes, but because Steve’s stumbled on the treadmill 17 times (and counting) each time Bucky’s bends over for a deadlift or sits into his back squat. 

He doesn’t need the alpha face planting into the machine because he’s too busy staring at Bucky’s barely concealed ass. Try explaining that to his boss. 

.

.

.

It’s a fantastic workout, when it’s all said and done. He finishes after Steve’s completed his run, so he had to finish his hip hinges and band circuit under the watchful (horny) gaze of one Captain America. It’s quite funny how Steve looks at Bucky with a mixture of awe and ‘I want to fuck you against this weight bench right now’.

As he makes himself a protein shake back in Steve’s kitchen, he asks him a question. 

“Do you wanna go back to your place and get some stuff so that you can stay here for a while?” 

Bucky blinks back owlishly, taken aback.

“Or you can stay at your place and I’ll just keep guard,” he adds quickly, “whichever one you want, it’s up to you.” 

Bucky takes the peanut butter out of the cabinet and finds a tablespoon. “Do you really want me to stay here?” Bucky questions, not looking at Steve because he just can’t do it while asking him this, “because i don’t wanna be a bother.” 

“You’re not a bother, baby,” Steve scoffs, “I love having you here. And I don’t want to let you out of my sight, if I’m being honest.” He slinks his arms around Bucky’s waist, giving the back of his neck a quick peck. 

“Oh goodness Steve,” Bucky says as he runs the blender for a few seconds. “...Okay. I guess I can.” 

Steve literally _jumps_ behind him. When he turns, he’s met with the cutest puppy dog face he’s ever seen. “Oh my gosh.” 

Steve just kisses him. 

“Do you wanna get in the shower first?” 

“Stevie, love… what clean clothes do I have to change into?” Bucky’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

The taller man smacks his lips. “I could always give you some clothes to wear. I don’t mind. The alpha in me loves to see it.” 

Bucky chuckles in agreement. “Oh, _I know_. I saw you tripping over your own feet when I was doing my squats and deadlifts.” 

“Well shit, can you blame me?” He smacks Bucky’s ass, hard enough to make it jiggle in his compression shorts. “Shit’s fat.” 

“ _Alright_ , go get in the shower, I’m going to call my brother back. But can I have a kiss first?” 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

Bucky tiptoes to reach Steve’s mouth, and Steve provides with a searing kiss that leaves Bucky panting. He leans in for another one, but Steve’s bitch ass leans back and hits the omega with a, “hopping in the shower now!” before leaving him with a half-hard dick. 

_Two can play that game_. 

He immediately runs out of the apartment as soon as he hears the water start running and The Internet’s _Get Away_ start playing. He’s knocking on Nat’s door a few seconds later. She opens with a raised eyebrow. 

“You smell sweaty.” 

He blinks slowly. “Good morning to you too.” 

“Right.” 

“Girl, anyways,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “can I have another pair of panties?” 

She closes her eyes. “ _Ew_.” 

“Nat! It’s for payback! Please!” 

She opens her eyes immediately. “I have the perfect pair for you.” 

45 seconds later he’s back in Steve’s apartment, a new pair of underwear (or panties, you could say) in tow. He slides into Steve’s guest bathroom and brushes his teeth quickly while in the shower. As he finishes scrubbing himself with a brand-new loofah he found underneath the sink, Steve opens the door to the shower. 

“Sweetheart?” Steve hums, “Do you mind if I set some clothes for you on the countertop?” 

“That’s fine. Thank you,” Bucky replies, his smile audible. 

Bucky doesn’t hear anything else before the door closes. Turning the shower off and stepping out onto the bath mat, he grabs a light blue towel and dries himself off, shocked at how soft the material is. He puts on some almond scented lotion and faces the set of panties he was glad he had “hidden” underneath his towel. 

This pair is silk and red. The cut of the fabric is thin, and it’s practically a g-string, but there’s a white bow in the front. They sit very low on his hips, a feeling he isn’t used to but doesn’t hate, and he takes stock of how pleasant the silk feels cradling his balls and rubbing against his hole.

He doesn’t know when Steve is going to see them, but he’s sure he’s gonna lose his mind when he does. 

He then turns his attention to the clothes Steve laid out for him. The bottoms are obviously Nat’s, as she’s the only one that Bucky is comparable in size to. Even though she’s about two inches taller than he is, Bucky has unusually long legs, so the length of her pants closely match Bucky’s. Not that he was going to wear pants, though. 

Steve (or Nat, I guess?) has given him some white Nike workout tights. 

Bucky’s grateful he’s basically wearing a g-string now. 

He slips the form-fitting fabric on and chortles. He ass looks _divine_ right now, the tights framing his glutes perfectly and the post-workout pump still present in his legs. He grabs the shirt, which he notices still _smells like Steve_ , and puts it on. Bucky’s swimming in it, the navy shirt completely covering his ass. It’s small potatoes though, because at least he’s wrapped in the scent of his soulmate.

Speaking of Steve, Bucky needs to find him and kiss him. Like now. 

Grabbing his phone and leaving the bathroom the way he found it, he steps back into the rest of the apartment. 

“Steve?” he questions, not seeing the alpha in the living room.

“I’m in the kitchen, honey.” 

He hears the sound of the dishwasher being closed before he rounds the corner and sees Steve leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. His biceps and tris look massive because of it, and his pecs which are _already_ larger than life itself seem to be propped up and made to look even fuller. It’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. 

“Are you ready to go?” Steve’s holding keys in his hands, giving his omega a soft smile. 

Bucky swallows. “Yeah I just wanted, um,” he clears his throat, “a kiss. Please.” 

Steve’s eyes grow impossibly softer as he reaches out and affixes his hands to their rightful home on Bucky’s hips. He draws the shorter man into him, squeezing his hips slightly. “Wow baby,” he sighs, “I didn’t think this shirt would be so big on you. You want me to see if I have a smaller one?” 

And that’s not what Bucky asked for because he wanted a kiss. He rocks forward onto his tiptoes and places a small peck on the alpha’s unrealistically soft lips. “No, I don’t mind. It smells like you…” 

Steve’s eyes light up at the words, and then he’s gently smooshing his lips against Bucky’s, one hand leaving his hip to trace slowly up his back. The kiss doesn’t last very long, but it’s filled with passion and it has a certain ineffable, calming quality to it. It scratches an itch that Bucky didn’t know he had. 

He doesn’t feel ready to let go of this physical intimacy he has with Steve right now, and he whimpers mournfully as Steve begins to slide out of Bucky’s arms. He freezes in place before putting a hand back on his slender hip. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” 

And here goes Bucky being a needy, touch-starved bitch again. “One more? Please?” 

“Of course, honey,” Steve rasps, his other big hand finding Bucky’s other hip, “but we have to go soon, okay?” 

“Yeah, yes, definitely,” Bucky agrees, “I’m sorry,” he adds as he kisses Steve. Bucky’s not horny, so his kisses, while passionate, are filled not with lust, but _desperation_. 

What exactly Bucky’s desperate for, he doesn’t quite know. 

This kiss lasts longer and is full of tongue, the omega absolutely melting into Steve’s body and mewling into his mouth. He’s intoxicated on _Steve_ , everything about him bringing Bucky to a mass of boneless flesh. 

The sound of an incoming FaceTime call breaks up the hysterics Bucky was in, and he immediately separates his lips from Steve. It’s his phone that’s ringing, Bucky realizes, and he glances over to the counter to see who’s calling him. 

It’s his brother, calling him back _again_. He rolls his eyes and shifts in Steve’s loosening grip and notices Steve giving him a concerned look for the most infinitesimally small amount of time out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking down, “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so weird and… sorry. I’ll stop.” 

“It’s okay sweetheart, I promise,” Steve responds, “I just wanna make sure you’re alright, that’s all.” 

He nods. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry, again.” He grabs his phone off the counter. “Let’s go?” 

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but gives him a small kiss on the forehead before intertwining their hands and leading him out of his apartment. 

“So am I driving? Or…?” Bucky asks as he enters the elevator with Steve. 

“No, sweetheart, I am. Besides, isn’t your window cracked?” 

_Oh yeah_. 

The elevator ride down more than 50 levels goes by very quickly, and before Bucky really even knows what’s happening, Steve is holding the door open to a brand new, sleek, black Acura MDX.

“I think I remember how to get to your place, but what street is it off again?” Steve says as he sits down in the driver’s seat and shuts the door behind him. 

“It’s just straight up Fair Oaks. I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

.

.

.

Bucky doesn’t have a suitcase–he’s never needed one. The only time he really ever got to travel was with the volleyball team at USC, and even then, they gave him luggage to use at the top of each season. So instead, he packs his clothing into three items he has several of: duffle bags. 

“So, you have no suitcase?” Steve gapes, incredulous. 

“Nah,” Bucky says evenly, zipping up the last bag. “I’ve never really gone anywhere. And when I traveled with the team I used the school’s luggage.” He finally looks up at Steve after making sure he has all of his toiletries, laptop, and charger stowed in his backpack. He’s still flummoxed. 

“So you’ve never been anywhere? Not even to your brother’s in Seattle?” There’s a sadness in Steve’s eyes. Bucky hates it. 

He smiles brightly in reply. “It’s okay! I promise. I’ve never really… thought about it until now though.” 

“Haven’t you been to some cool places while travelling with the team?” 

“Yeah, I have,” Bucky answers as he places the duffle bags on the floor by his bed, “I’ve been to New York, Provo… DC. Chicago, too, for a little.” Steve still looks sad, so Bucky adds on more to make the energy less… sad. “My favorite was when we played in Provo. The night sky there was _insane_ I saw so many constellations and I could even see the spiral arm of the galaxy. I’ll never forget it.” 

The alpha gives Bucky a pensive stare for a moment, before grabbing the duffle bag straps in one hefty hand. “You wanna go on an adventure with me?” 

“I–I’d go anywhere with you.” It’s an unbelievably honest answer, one that not even Bucky knew he had in him. 

“Perfect. I know just the place.” He gives Bucky a kiss on the forehead before heading towards the car. 

Bucky can tell this is about to get interesting. 

After Steve’s packed the car up, resisting Bucky’s help along the way, they’re on the road, making a u-turn and heading back down Fair Oaks. Steve’s about to turn onto the 210 eastbound until he hears Bucky’s stomach growling. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. 

“What?” Steve asks incredulously, “it’s fine, you’re just hungry. You want Roscoe’s?” 

“Oh my goodness, _yes_ ,” he exclaims, face lighting up. 

Before Bucky knows it they’re pulling into the parking lot. It’s fairly empty, but Bucky remembers that it’s a Friday afternoon and that most people are at work. Good for them though, because finding a seat without waiting at Roscoe’s at any point during the weekend is a blessing in and of itself. 

Steve opens the door open for Bucky and later guides them to their booth with his hand on the omega’s lower back the entire time. It’s doing something for Bucky, hitting something in him that he can barely register is his hindbrain. He takes a seat opposite from Steve, but something doesn’t feel right.

He feels like he’s too physically far away from Steve–his _body_ seems to be telling him that. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from or _why_ , but it’s there and the feeling is _strong_. He tries to suppress it and ignore it. After all, the alpha is sitting less than four feet away from him. 

Even that feels too far away though. 

Steve must smell the war Bucky’s raging within the confines of his mind, because he lightly grabs his hand, the gargantuan appendage completely dwarfing his own. 

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Steve’s voice is full of concern and love. Bucky feels bad for feeling the way that he does, even though he can’t help it. What’s wrong with him? He wants to respect Steve’s boundaries and not be a fucking weirdo, but his body is literally _screaming_ at him to go to Steve and just fuse bodies. 

“I… um, just feel a little weird, is all. Think I’m just hungry,” Bucky lies. Unconvincingly so, if the look on Steve’s face is anything to go by. 

“Sweetheart, what’s really going on? You’ve been so handsy ever since I came back last night,” Steve pries, worry etched onto his perfect face and the scent beginning to stick in the air. 

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on, but I’m okay! I promise.” Steve still looks wary. “But I guess, um, I guess I have to ask… if it wouldn’t be too much to ask–and you can say no if you’d like, that’s perfectly fine–to sit next to you?” The last part of the sentence tumbles out of Bucky’s mouth. “Actually it’s okay that’s really stupid and I–” 

Steve’s other hand covers Bucky’s free one. “Sweetheart, honey, hey. Look at me.” Bucky brings his eyes, which he hadn’t realized were focused on the table in between them, back up to Steve’s. “It’s okay. Of course I’ll sit next to you, doll.” 

He gets up and sits next to Bucky on his side of the booth, and Bucky leans his head on Steve’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Steve’s left arm that’s resting on the table. He snuggles against the bigger man, sighing happily as Steve looks through the menu.

“What do you want to eat, sweetheart?” Steve asks. 

_God_ , it’s crazy how much Bucky loves that fucking name. It makes him want to climb in Steve’s lap and kiss the skin off his lips. “You choose for me Daddy.” 

Steve tenses for an imperceptibly small moment, and then answers. “Okay babydoll.” The waitress comes a moment later, and Bucky doesn’t even open his eyes, just tries to burrow deeper into Steve. 

The alpha orders three Carol C. Specials, two for him and one for Bucky, except he asks for an extra waffle with both of his. So Steve will have four massive waffles and two chicken breasts. And will probably still be hungry afterwards. Jeez. 

He reluctantly separates from Steve to eat his food. He does so quickly, yet still doesn’t finish as fast as Steve does. It’s amazing; the man is a fucking vacuum cleaner. He’s like kirby. They finish and Steve picks up the tab, refusing Bucky’s insistence to split it, and ushers him out of the restaurant yet again with a hand on the small of his back. 

They’re halfway to the car when Steve says it. 

“My shirt still looks big on you,” he mentions with a chuckle. 

And Buck’s whole body _pulses_ with want. He stops dead in his tracks, Steve looking back at him, almost scared. “ _Daddy_ ,” Bucky starts, “ _please_ , please kiss me, I’m _begging_ you.” 

Steve’s eyes grow as round as saucers. “Bucky, darlin’, what’s wrong?” He wraps his arms around the younger man just as his legs begin to fail him. 

Bucky’s arms find his way around Steve’s neck and they tighten as Bucky mewls out again. “Daddy _please,_ I need you, I-I can’t, I wanna be yours, I wanna–”

And Steve gives him what he wants: a deep, searing kiss. Bucky’s legs completely give out, but he moans, high and desperate. They kiss like that, Bucky held up by Steve’s imposing frame in the middle of the parking lot, for at least a minute, the omega mewling, whimpering, and begging the whole time. 

When Steve finally pulls back, Bucky’s still grabby and handsy and _desperate_ for Steve. He pulls them into the back seat of the car so Bucky can straddle his lap and get the privacy and intimacy they both need. Hopefully the windows are tinted dark enough. 

“What do you need, Buck?” He asks, confused. Bucky’s not putting out any aroused pheromones, so he doesn’t really _know_ what’s going on. But if his Bucky is this needy and desperate for him, it must be something he _needs_. 

“I-I need to be yours Daddy, I wanna feel like–like I belong to you,” Bucky slurs, kissing at Steve’s neck and grinding on him. He notices that Bucky’s not even hard.

He’s even more confused now. 

“Baby, you already have me,” Steve rasps, “I’m right here sweetheart.” 

He shakes his head. “Please _say it_ , and mean it Daddy, please, I love you and I need it and I–” 

Steve captures his lips in a kiss again. “You need to be reminded of who you belong to, huh sweetheart?” 

Bucky’s breath visibly catches in his throat. “Yes, Daddy, _please_.” 

He’s still not hard, but he seems to be getting closer to… something. 

“Yeah?” He coos, running his hands up and down his lover’s back, “‘s that what you need? To know that you belong to me?” Bucky doesn’t _say_ anything in reply, just tilts his head back and exposes his neck while mewling incoherently, still grinding on him. “Yeah? You’re _mine_ , sweetheart, you belong to _me_ and _one one else_ ,” he growls as he sucks on the mating gland on Bucky’s neck. 

And Bucky, for all intents and purposes, has a completely dry orgasm. It’s the most intense thing he’s ever experienced–his vision blacks out, his body trembles, and he collapses against Steve, whimpering ‘thank you Daddy’ and ‘I love you Daddy’ over and over and over and _over_. Steve just lets him nuzzle against him for a few minutes as the younger’s brain slowly comes back online. 

Steve can smell when Bucky begins to wake up, because the acrid scent of fear and nervousness envelopes them both as soon as the omega begins to stir. 

“Bucky, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s head is still hidden in Steve’s neck, but he feels a drop of warm liquid hit his collarbone. “Honey, are you crying?” 

Bucky sniffles. “I-I’m sorry Steve,” he whispers, voice shaky as ever, “I d-don’t know what happened I just felt so–” 

“–hey hey hey, babydoll, it’s okay, shhh,” he cooes, thumbs circling his sides, “you don’t have to apologize, it’s okay. I’m not mad at all.” 

“No no, I’m _s-sorry_ , I just love you _so much_ and I get this feeling inside that I–” 

Steve kisses that sentence incomplete. “No more apologies about that. Okay?” 

Bucky swallows and looks away, bashful. “Y-yes. Sorry. I mean–” Bucky sighs, exasperated, “yes.” 

Steve has no idea of what’s going on, and is about to suggest heading back to Tony’s to get him checked out, when Bucky speaks again. “Can we please still go on that adventure?” Steve gives him a focused stare in reply. “Please?”

And that’s enough to whittle Steve’s resilience down. 

“Alright sweetheart, but only if you promise that you’re feeling better now.” 

“I promise,” he says, nodding. 

“Good then. Hop in the passenger seat?” 

Bucky nods, gives him a peck on the lips, and slides off his lap, climbing over the front console and into the passenger seat. Steve exits and gets into the driver’s seat. As they back out of the parking lot, Steve notices the first drops of rain beginning to fall. “I didn’t know it was supposed to rain today.” 

“Yeah, there’s supposed to be a storm today.” Bucky looks out the window as Steve merges onto the 210. “I love the rain. It always makes me sleepy though.” 

“Do you think you could maybe fall asleep in the car? I know you have a hard time sleeping. I mean, you woke up before I did. Twice.” 

He shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I could try?” 

Steve flashes him a smile as he gets into the carpool line. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll wake you when we get there.” 

He takes Bucky’s hand in his, and before they get to the 605, Bucky is asleep. 

.

.

.

Bucky finally wakes up when he feels himself getting moved. He’s in Steve’s arms, that’s for sure, but other than that, he has no idea where he’s at. 

“You’re finally up,” Steve says, setting him down on a bed in a massive, modern bedroom. “I was just about to wake you.” 

Bucky kisses Steve because his body tells him he _has to_ or else he’ll _die_ , and then asks, “where are we?” 

“We’re in a place called Idyllwild, sweetheart. It’s close to Palm Springs. We’re just up in the mountains.” Steve takes his palm in his hand and kisses it. “Are you still sleepy?” 

Bucky nods. “A little.” 

“Mmm. Okay, well why don’t you lay back down then okay sweetheart? I’m gonna go out back and chop down a tree for some firewood. I want you to stay under the covers because it’s cold up here–only 27 degrees.” 

“Chop down a tree?” Bucky asks through a yawn, “goodness, Steve.” 

He chuckles. “Gotta keep us warm, doll.” He kisses Bucky again. “Go back to sleep, angel. I’ll be back in about 15.” 

Steve tucks him in and Bucky quickly feels sleep starting to take him over once again. He hears the front door on the lower level open and then close. 

He stills for a few moments, listening to pounding rain hit the massive glass wall of the bedroom he’s in. It’s soothing. He’s always found the sound of rain to be like a lullaby. 

The front door opens again, but closes softer this time. When Steve doesn’t call out, Bucky does so. “Steve?” 

He gets no reply. He rolls over in the bed, about to look for his phone, when he smells it. 

That _fucking smell_. 

That smell that he could never fucking forget, not even if he wanted to. 

Brock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, I just wanted to say thank you!! I hope you guys liked this chapter, I've spent about a month mulling over it. 
> 
> Don't hate me for the ending. Love y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you guys liked it (or if I should add any more tags.)


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